Backward With Purpose Part II: The Book of Albus
by Deadwoodpecker
Summary: This is the companion novel to Backward With Purpose. I'd read that one first. This story is complete; the sequel has begun.
1. The First

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was thirty nine years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of fifteen during the Battle for the Ministry of Magic. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his wife, Ginevra Potter, and their three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the Curse Breaker, William Weasley. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for his old mentor, Albus Dumbldore, dead these many years, minutes before he passed. _

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's._

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**Author's Note:**

_For those of you who have not read Backward With Purpose, this story is not going to make any sense to you whatsoever. _

_For those of you who have... For the moment, this is the world that existed before Merlin made his FIRST trip to the past. And thus begins the sequel to Backward With Purpose, the Book of Albus._


	2. Prologue

Dad's funeral was the worst day of my life. And it's a bit different when I say that as opposed to when other people say it because, let's face it, I've had more lifetimes of memories than most people (even Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ron, but that's another story). But this was the _first _worst day of my life, I had no idea that Dad and the other two had traveled time, and I sure as hell didn't know that I'd do it too. Therefore I vividly remember sweating through my robes. Some stupid cow that I'd never met in my entire life was up at the front, sobbing, as she waxed poetic about Dad.

"--he was such a saint," she said quiveringly. "A saint. He must have been just too wonderful to stay here with us for long."

I exchanged incredulous glances with James. I could practically hear him say "What the hell?" It was obvious that the stupid cow had never even been in the same room as Dad, let alone actually spoken with him enough to write a eulogy that didn't make those who knew him vomit in their mouths a little. Dad was many things, but a saint was not one of them. He was brave and hard-working, but he had a temper that rivaled Mum's once he got going. I suddenly remembered that time when the three of us had stolen Dad's wand and taken the Knight Bus to the zoo (we were looking for Aunt Luna). If that woman had seen his reaction to that, she sure as hell wouldn't have called him a saint.

"What are you smiling at?" Lily leaned across Mum. I was horrified. I'd actually smiled at my own dad's funeral? But Lily didn't look like she wanted to hex me and Mum, who sat between us, didn't say anything.

"Remember when we went to find Aunt Luna at the zoo?" I asked. "Dad was _not _a saint."

"My arse _still_ hurts," James murmured. All three of us chuckled a little. I just couldn't help it. I could hear disapproving mutters from the crowd behind us, but Uncle Ron reached around James and clapped my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, and Mum ruffled my hair. _And they're the ones that matter_, I thought resentfully. _This funeral is rubbish. Dad would've hated it._

And I knew that for a fact. Dad would have preferred it if everyone had just forgotten what had happened all those years ago -- before I was even born -- with Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort. He didn't like it when random witches and wizards came up to him while we were all at Quality Quidditch Supplies or Flourish and Blotts and thanked him. He was always gracious about it (Mum wasn't, especially if they tried to get too close to any of us), but I could tell it bothered him a lot.

He didn't even tell his own kids the details of what had happened until right before we left for Hogwarts. I'd known that he'd defeated a really evil wizard when he was still a kid himself, but I didn't know about the prophecy or the Horcruxes or any of that. I used to wonder if that's why I got sorted into Slytherin. I'd just had all (or what I _thought _was all -- I had a rude awakening on my seventeenth birthday when Mum and Uncle Ron sat me down and told me the real story) of Dad's heroics clearly outlined for me. So of _course _I was wondering how in the name of Merlin I'd ever measure up.

But I tried not to feel that way. Dad had enough people thinking he was some sort of perfect hero. He didn't need one of his own kids to do it too. I turned around, wondering if the rest of the family wanted this stupid woman to just get off the stage. Granddad held Grandma; she was weeping unabashedly, and I would not be surprised if neither of them had heard anything that was said since the funeral began. Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey sat with their heads bowed. Uncle Percy was always serious, though. I remember lively debates with James as to why the uncle who laughed the least owned a joke shop, of all things. But then Mum had explained to us that our Uncle Fred and Uncle George (who had both died in the war) had started it, and it helped Uncle Percy keep their memory alive.

That was when I was seven years old or so, and I was still a little naive. It didn't make sense to me why someone would do something they didn't really like because of dead people. But I'd never asked him straight up why he'd done it. That had been Lily, who was probably braver and had less tact than James or me.

"They talked about opening this shop for years," he'd said. "It was their dream."

But it obviously hadn't been his dream. Uncle Ron had said so often enough, and I think the two of them used to fight about it, but never in front of us. Dad told us later that night that sometimes people never really got over losing someone. At the time, I thought he'd just been talking about Uncle Percy, but I later realized that when it came to keeping memories of loved ones alive, Uncle Percy didn't hold a candle to Dad.

Uncle Percy caught me staring at him, and gave me a little smile.

Sometimes I wish that Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were my godparents. James was their godson, and even though they included me in all sorts of godparent/godchild activities, I sometimes felt guilty that I liked them more than Uncle Percy. I felt obligated to be closer to him, but Uncle Percy was too formal. Too polite. Too _something_. But then I always consoled myself by reminding myself that Aunt Luna was my godmother, and it was sort of like being the godchild of a whirlwind.

And she gave the best presents.

I couldn't help but grin when I saw that she'd worn bright yellow. That was Aunt Luna. Everyone else was wearing black dress robes, and she wore what she called "sun colors." Dad would've liked that.

Something huge and awful pressed down on my chest. It was so sudden. One moment I was thinking about Aunt Luna's outfit, and the next all I could think was how Dad couldn't see it. He and Uncle Ron wouldn't exchange those laughing grins, and later, Dad wouldn't tease Mum about how she could learn a thing or two about fashion from Aunt Luna. And Mum wouldn't threaten to hex him, but we'd all know that she wasn't serious. And Dad wouldn't send us off to bed early, and we wouldn't be disgusted by what that meant...

Because Dad was gone. Uncle Ron didn't have a best mate, Mum didn't have a husband, and me and James and Lily were half orphans. I concentrated really hard on blinking, and looked around to distract myself. We were in Godric's Hollow, of course. This wasn't the first time that I'd been here in the cemetery. Granddad and Grandma Potter were buried here, and so was Dad's old mentor, Albus Dumbledore. But it was the first time that I'd seen the grassy areas between headstones expanded so that space could be made for literally hundreds of chairs. I tried to occupy myself by counting the people I actually knew (not very many), but all the while I felt like I had poison bubbling in my stomach.

All too soon, Granddad stood up. I suddenly did not want the funeral to be over, and I gripped the arms of my chair so tightly that my nails made little, half-moon scars in the wood. Dad is gone, he's not coming back. I tried to take slow, even breaths. I did not want to cry in front of so many people. I'd already cried last night, when we'd all slept with Mum in her big bed like we used to when we were little, before James claimed that he was too much of a big boy to have sleep-overs with Mum and Dad on Saturday nights. I'd woken up before it was even light outside, and I'd been too disoriented for a few moments to realize what the absence of Dad's snores meant. And then it had hit me.

I wanted that stupid woman who hadn't known Dad at all to keep talking. Her words had been empty and meaningless, but when Granddad walked to the front of the crowd just in front of the large headstone engraved with the name "Harry James Potter" and the words "Always and Always," I wanted to jump up and run away. I knew that I was being irrational, Dad had already died, but once Granddad finished speaking and the funeral was over, it would mean that Dad was really, truly gone.

"Always and always," Granddad said in a hoarse voice that was carried magically to every ear in the crowd. "Harry Potter lived by those words since the moment I met him. And he taught those who knew and loved him how to live by it as well. The world"--here his voice broke--"will always remember Harry as the man who defeated Voldemort. But I'll remember him as being my seventh son, and my daughter will remember him as the love of her life. And his children will remember him as, what James has said, the 'best dad in the world.' But it all means the same thing. Because the greatest accomplishment of Harry Potter was his huge capacity to love."

He spoke more, but there was a terrible ringing in my ears, and tears were sliding down my face. James shook beside me with the force of his sobs, and we all sort of leaned against Mum, who gripped us so tightly it hurt. What Granddad said was true. Dad really had been the best, even though he'd fretted for our safety a bit too much, and even though he sometimes lost his temper. And I stupidly thought, who is going to teach me the Wronski Feint?

A little while later, Mum and Uncle Ron got up. I wiped my eyes and nose on the sleeve of my robes, wondering what they were up to. Mum had been adamant that she did not want to say anything. Uncle Ron hadn't either; Aunt Hermione had considered it, but in the end, Granddad had been chosen as representative of the family. But neither one of them made any move to speak. Instead, they both drew their wands. Uncle Ron pulled something out of his pocket and enlarged it. It looked like a shallow crystal bowl on a stand.

Then Mum waved her wand, and a jet of flame leapt from the end of her wand and filled the bowl with dancing blue light. Everlasting fire, I thought in awe. Uncle Ron threw an arm over Mum's shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She didn't say anything that I could see, only nodded her head, and squared her shoulders.

I put my head in my hands, and everything inside me rebelled at the thought of saying goodbye to my father.


	3. The Wise Asp

I can't pinpoint the exact date that the anger started. I mean, it's obvious that it really began when Dad died, and probably even when he began his inexorable decline. But for two years after Dad died it was dormant. I suppose it was more of an edge than something that pretty much consumed me. It made me snappy; it caused my grandma to cluck over me. Once, after I'd gotten annoyed with Lily for picking at James for some stupid, imagined offense (honestly, though, she couldn't just relax, especially if it was the wrong time of the month).

"Just shut up, Lily!" My voice came out louder than I wanted it to. Uncle Ron looked over and quirked a grin.

"We're just teasing, Al," James snapped back. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

I seethed inwardly. Apparently it was not as private as I thought, for Mum and Uncle Ron exchanged exasperated, amused, and saddened expressions. I knew this look well. It meant that either I or my brother and sister had done something that reminded them so much of Dad that they had to acknowledge it.

"Are you reminded of his fifth year?" Uncle Ron murmured.

"Almost every day," Mum said exasperatedly.

It infuriated me that what they said sometimes made no sense. I knew all about Dad's fifth year. He'd spent it training with Albus Dumbledore, for whom I am named, and right before Christmas, he'd taken care of Voldemort once and for all. I also knew that they'd never said anything about Dad being broody (and I'm not stupid, I knew that they were talking about what they called my moods). I don't know what they were playing at, and it only inflamed my annoyance when they tried to pretend that they knew something I didn't.

But I didn't have the heart to snap back at Mum. She tried to put a good face on things, but I heard her crying almost every night when she thought we were asleep.

But everything was slowly boiling all throughout my sixth year. I had the unsettling experience of being ambitious (what can I say? I fully belong in Slytherin), and being completely uninterested in what Hogwarts had to offer. I wasn't a bad student. Dad had always been really relaxed about using magic outside of school ("What's the point? What the Ministry of Magic doesn't know won't hurt them," he'd say. Mum would invariably try to argue, but he could always get her to forget about it.) and I got loads of practice. Plus, Aunt Hermione -- who is prety much the smartest witch on the planet -- took great interest in the education of her nieces and nephews. Sometimes I wondered how my cousins, Rose and Hugo, survived. I pictured them hunched over school desks, reading Hogwarts: A History three times a day.

Needless to say, my growing annoyance with life in general did not go unnoticed by my schoolmates.

Sometime in the fall during my sixth year, I was sitting in the Slytherin common room. I was pretending to study, but I was, in actuality, feeling annoyed that my dad had lied. Well, to be fair, he hadn't lied. He'd told me, the night before I left for my first year at Hogwarts, that he'd made the best friends he'd ever had during his very first ride on the Hogwarts Express. And he had. That wasn't a lie. And I could admit that he had never promised the same thing for me. But it seemed like an affront to destiny that I did not, in fact, meet an Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione during my first ride.

I'd sat in the same compartment as my cousin Rose. And me and Rose were probably the closest of all the cousins. She's a great girl, she really is. But she's sort of scary how she's so rigid about following the rules. I'm not the only one who thinks this. I remember a day right between my first and second year when Uncle Ron tried to lure her into doing underage magic. The efforts became pretty elaborate, but Rose held out. That sort of self-control scared me, but my uncle just laughed and seemed really proud that she was just like her mother.

But I hadn't really made the type of friendship that my dad had. I couldn't look at someone in my dorm and say to myself yes, I'd want to have this bloke hunt down little pieces of a madman's soul with me.

"Albus Severus Potter," said a voice that was far too familiar. My dark mood took a turn for the worse.

"What do you want, Wilder?" I asked. I didn't even try to make it sound like she wasn't the last person in the world that I wanted to talk to. Emily WIlder is pretty much the bane of my existence.

She sat down on the table. I actually had to move my books out of the way. She would have sat on them if I hadn't. I glared at her, pretending that I hadn't noticed that my hand had brushed up against her bum. And when I gave that up as a bad job, I just glared harder. And, just to infuriate me, her grin widened. I hunkered down in my chair.

"I'm busy, Wilder," I said coldly.

"You know," she said thoughtfully. "I sometimes miss the days when you called me Emmy."

It was her own damn fault that I didn't call her Emmy anymore. We used to be pretty good friends, actually. We didn't meet on the Hogwarts Express, but we met that first night in the common room. We were both feeling a bit out of place. All of the other kids who'd grown up hearing about Harry Potter didn't really know what to make of me joining their house. And they doubly didn't know what to make of Emily; she's a Muggleborn. So we'd sort of banded together. And I'd called her Emmy, and she always said my full name in the exact same manner, putting the stress on the last syllables. I used to think it was pretty funny. She had no idea that magic existed until she got her letter, so she hadn't any clue that I was named for two great heroes of the war. I used to like that. But now... whenever she said my name, it drove me wild.

She cleared her throat when it became clear that I wasn't going to reply to her stupid comment. "Are you working on the essay for Charms?" she asked. I glanced down at the books in my hands. It was obvious that all of them were based on Charms.

"No," I said slowly. "I'm freaking working on the Draught of Peace. See all the potions ingredients?" I held up Quintessance: A Quest. "Isn't it obvious?"

She looked away, and I knew that I'd hurt her. I felt a horrible mixture of guilt and satisfaction. She'd burned me really bad not even two months after Dad died. I just couldn't forgive her.

"You're such a wise arse, Al Potter," she said coolly. Wilder was like that. She could bounce back without more than a second of hesitation. But she couldn't control the dull flush that crept up her neck. "No, wait," she said thoughtfully. "You're not a wise arse, you're a wise asp. Your initials," she said, as if I were a particularly stupid five year old and couldn't have figured that out myself. "ASP. Wise Asp."

A few fifth years laughed a bit nastily (I'd just told them to shut the hell up, so I probably deserved it). And Wilder scooted off the table, flipped that long hair the color of honey over her shoulder, gave me a wink, and sashayed right out the door.

The nickname stuck.


	4. Blame

Mum always says that Potter men sometimes just need to go out to Granddad's shed and have our heads put back together. When I was a child, this generally happened when we needed to have a stern talking to, and Dad (who knew his limitations) was laughing too hard to do it properly. Once, when James and I got into it, I turned him into an ass. Not on purpose, it was accidental magic. But Mum and Dad took one look and laughed and actually had to hold on to each other to keep from falling over. Luckily we were at the Burrow; all they had to do was point, and I knew what I had to do. So I trudged out to the shed, and listened to an impromptu lecture on 'Why We Don't Turn Our Brothers Into Asses.'

But now I sort of found myself wanting some advice. I'd been feeling off all day. I was home from school; we'd been given special dispensation to attend the annual celebration of the defeat of Voldemort, and then to just stay home until the Christmas holidays started the day after. And every time I thought about either Voldemort or Emily Wilder, I felt this incandescent rage that started in my bones and radiated outward so that waves of fury traveled over my skin again and again.

This was not a pleasant feeling.

I_ wish Dad was here_, I thought savagely, as I did pretty much every day. It just seemed grossly unfair that the entire freaking world would celebrate what he had done, and he was moldering in his grave. Yeah, he'd survived that asshole, but he'd died before he was even forty. Heroes were supposed to live long lives and grow old with the girl and see their grandchildren be born (which might be sooner rather than later. James had made his way through practically every girl in Gryffindor, and was now seeing a Hufflepuff, though we all knew that he'd end up with Sarah Black).

I opened the shed door with more force than I intended. Granddad jumped and banged his head on the low-floating lantern. I grimaced apologetically while he swore.

"Morning, Al," he said, rubbing his head and wincing.

"Morning, Granddad," I said. I already sounded belligerent. "I don't want to go today. In fact, I'm not going to go today."

"Oh?" He said, lifting an eyebrow. I'd once heard Dad say that Granddad is unflappable in the face of children, and it's true. Granddad always attributes it to raising my dead twin uncles. He always says "I raised Fred and George" with that look that was a mixture of weariness, resignation, and the type of grief that I hadn't understood until the funeral of my father.

"Yeah," I said, crossing my arms. "It's a stupid waste of time. None of you ever want to go," I said accusingly. "Dad hated going, you know that."

"It's true that I always dread going," he said calmly. "But I would feel worse if I didn't go. I understand that it has something to do with your father--"

"It has nothing to do with him!" I lied loudly. I immediately felt guilty for yelling at Granddad. "Sorry," I muttered. I ruffled my hair. "It's just... I just... when he was here, it was pretty amazing." And it had been. One of my earliest memories was of sitting on Dad's shoulders and watching the fireworks, pulling at his hair so tightly that I had hanks of it in my hands at the end of the evening. I hadn't understood at all what was being celebrated, and why a huge crowd of people had treated Dad with respect bordering on worship. "But now it doesn't seem like there's much to celebrate."

Granddad fiddled around with the calculator that lay on the table. I knew that he wasn't really tinkering with it; he was just gathering his thoughts.

"I often feel the same way," he admitted finally. "I buried two children, and, believe me, that sort of pain never goes away. Not a day goes by when I don't think of them. They weren't even supposed to be there," he said. His voice had an odd note in it, as though he was still surprised that his sons were gone, even after all these years. "But your uncles... they were a force of nature," he chuckled. "Nothing could stop them, not really."

"It's Voldemort's fault," I said suddenly. I wanted to clap a hand over my mouth. Maybe he'll think that I meant Uncle Fred and Uncle George, I thought hopefully. But Granddad was too astute for that.

"He was sick, Al," he said gently. "It had nothing to do with Voldemort."

I looked away and glared mutinously at the wall. I hated to admit it, but Granddad was wrong. Yeah, maybe Voldemort hadn't used the Killing Curse on Dad again, but maybe if he hadn't had such a hard life, he would've been stronger. I may have only been fourteen at the time, but I've got ears. The Healers had said that he couldn't fight whatever sickness he'd contracted because his constitution was weak. Dad was the strongest wizard in Britain, so that asshole Voldemort must've whittled away at him. And getting hit with the Killing Curse twice was no joke, either.

I hid my hands in the folds of my robes to hide the fact that I was trembling with rage.

I couldn't fool Granddad. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I immediately felt the backs of my eyes sting, and I was about half a hair away from crying. Not that that hadn't happened before in this place. I hate to admit, but I was a sensitive child, and I used to cry whenever Granddad raised his voice just a little. Thankfully, that had ended when I was about five. So it wasn't like I'd be embarrassed or anything, but I knew that the pressure in my chest that seemed like a pretty constant companion would just get worse if I let it out.

"There are things you don't understand," Granddad murmured.

"I understand perfectly well," I bit out before I could stop myself. I squeezed my eyes closed. Dad died because Voldemort weakened him. It was like a constant refrain in my head. The prophecy hadn't turned out to be in favor of Dad, after all, because if he hadn't been the stupid Chosen One, he would've died of old age. I could see it so vividly in my head... Dad, scarless, would be waiting inside the Burrow with Mum, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione. He'd be excited about going to the celebration, not moaning and groaning, because the Chosen One would've been Neville Longbottom, and I'd heard stories about him all my life. Maybe Neville could have survived past forty, and everyone would be so happy with Neville out of St. Mungo's.

"Al--"

"Listen," I said. I tried to smile. "I'm sorry for being stupid. I'm going to the celebration. And I've got to go get ready for it, I guess," I was lying. The event wasn't for another three hours, and I wasn't Lily, who needed that amount of time to get ready.

I left before Granddad could stop me.

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**Author's Note:**

_The chapters are short for the moment, but they'll be longer once Al starts his journey. _


	5. Revelation

I had the really unusual experience of finding out exactly what I was going to do for the rest of my life on my seventeenth birthday. I assume that for others, it does not simply fall into their laps like that, so I really should consider myself lucky. But with a few casually chosen words, Mum and Uncle Ron changed the course of my life forever. I was fiddling with the new watch Mum had given me, and was looking over at my new snowy owl (already named Solstice), when Mum abruptly stood up.

"Hey, Lily," she said. "We need a few private minutes with your brother.

Lily looked offended, but she was sort of expecting it. Mum and the rest of the family had taken James aside on his seventeenth. They'd spent several hours closeted with him; not only that, but they'd placed a very strong Imperturbable Charm on the place. I desperately hoped that this was not some sort of sex talk. I'd thought it was when it had happened with James, though I'd thought it weird that they didn't know that he'd been sleeping with witches before he came of age. And I didn't have a girlfriend, no thanks to that Wilder cow.

Some of my apprehension must have shown on my face, for Uncle Ron gave me a lazy grin and said, "I can guess what you're thinking. James thought we were going to give him The Talk, too; little bugger tried to jump out the window."

"No," Mum said seriously. "This is far more serious than sex. Though I hope you aren't following in your brother's footsteps," she said sternly.

At that time, I didn't like my mother even saying that word in front of me. It was deeply embarrassing. Especially when, just last week, she'd commented on how long I'd been in the shower. It was like she knew what I'd been doing and, damn it, I'd thought my face was going to burn out. _Yet another thing I can blame Wilder for_, I thought resentfully. Everything she did infuriated me. I hated the way she wiggled her hips when she walked, and how she worried at her bottom lip when she was trying to concentrate, and the way her eyes glinted when she teased. But it was like watching a broomstick accident; I just couldn't look away.

"I don't miss being a teenager," Uncle Ron said. "Who's the witch?"

"It's Emily Wilder," Mum said. "Remember she stayed with us for a week a few summers ago? Before," she said, unnecessarily.

It had been almost three years since we'd been friends.

"It isn't Wilder," I said loudly. "I hate her."

Mum and Uncle Ron exchanged if-you-say-so glances, which did nothing to improve my temper. I realized almost immediately that they would not be convinced unless I acted casual. So I took a sip of tea. "Sorry," I said in a more normal tone. "She really does get on my nerves. And I was a little nervous that we were going to have The Talk." I even laughed a little.

"Are you trying your Slytherin tricks on me?" Uncle Ron asked.

"Why would I need to?" I countered. I was careful to maintain eye contact. "I really dislike her. It's not a romantic thing."

I felt a flash of triumph when I saw his uncertainty. Uncle Ron was a pretty perceptive bloke when it came to his nephews and son, so it was quite a trick to fool him. I was with Hugo in Hogsmeade the day after he got his first kiss, and Uncle Ron had met us, and he'd started laughing and teasing right away. I think Hugo had only mentioned her name, or something. So I felt like I'd gotten one past the Keeper.

"All right," he said finally. "That isn't what we wanted to talk to you about, anyway."

"Al," Mum said. She looked steadily at me. "What if I told you that the story of Voldemort's defeat was only one half of what really happened?"

I thought back to everything I knew about the war. I wasn't a complete moron. I knew that there was a secret. They'd never explained things to my satisfaction. For instance, how had they known where all the Horcruxes were? That had bugged me when I first heard it. But Dad had found them without too much trouble. He'd always said that it had something to do with him being a Horcrux, but Dad had gone into the wrong school House if he wanted to learn how to lie. And then, when I was twelve, we'd gone to the celebration, and I overheard Dad tell Mum that they really should have told Dumbledore everything. What had Dad known that Dumbledore didn't?

"Well, I've always sort of wondered how you found the Horcruxes when you were younger than fifteen," I admitted. "And then the battle in the graveyard... that always just seemed weird to me. Are you going to tell me that Dad or one of you was a Seer or anything?"

Mum laughed a little sadly. "Do you know... Neville Longbottom asked us the same thing."

"Even Aunt Hermione was halfway convinced of it," Uncle Ron said fondly.

"Where is Aunt Hermione?" I asked.

"We thought it best that we do this just the two of us," Mum said. "It's our secret, after all."

"We traveled back in time, Al," Uncle Ron said gently.

What?

"What?" I asked blankly. I stared at the both of them.

"We used the Tears of Merlin to travel back in time," said Mum. "I know you've heard of the Tears of Merlin; we read you that fairy tale often enough. You always really loved it; your dad and I thought that was very... cute."

I swallowed. My mind was racing very quickly. My mother had never, ever lied to me. Neither had my uncle. But it seemed like such an extravagant story. Normal people didn't just travel through time. But then again... I'd never heard anyone make the mistake of thinking that my parents and uncle were normal. I searched the depths of my memories, and found one of Mum, Dad, and me sitting on their big bed, and I was pleading with them to read me that story. "Just like his dad," Dad said fondly, ruffling my hair. "And his mum!" Mum said indignantly. "And we mustn't forget his Uncle Ron."

And it explained how they knew where the Horcruxes were. And it explained how the Aurors had known to show up to the graveyard. Little bits of conversations I'd overheard, and tiny incongruities in the story... it clicked. It was like I'd been listening to the melody of a song for years, and then I heard the words and it just fit.

"But... why?" I asked, confused.

Uncle Ron chuckled. "You're letting us off easily, Al. It took your brother a good hour of convincing."

"I thought we might need Veritaserum," Mum said.

"And you're less... straight-forward than James," Uncle Ron added.

Confusion was still swirling around inside of me, but after a moment of hesitation, I had not considered not believing them. After all, I had grown up knowing that Dad's Invisibility Cloak was a Deathly Hallow. And Albus Dumbledore's wand was the Elder Wand. So it wasn't as though I had never been exposed to fairy tales made real before. I just didn't really understand why, though I thought I might have an idea.

"The first time ended badly," Mum said. "Everyone we loved was dead. You can't even imagine..."

Of course.

"And your dad had this idea," Uncle Ron said. "Not right after. But he brought it up. And we... went with it. It took us ten years to do it, though. We had to look for the right way to do it, and we didn't have any help from anyone. Your mum was the one to finally discover the secret, though, and it took another three years before we went back."

"And then you saved everyone?"

"As many as we could," Uncle Ron said. "Having knowledge... that was priceless, but it was still a long road."

"I think Harry might've been right, Ron," Mum said. "We really ought to have told Dumbledore straight away."

I was going to have questions. I already did have questions. But I was not like James. I needed quiet to sort through my thoughts. My heart was racing in my chest; I felt like I had been given a gift. "I have a question," I said. "Why haven't you told people?"

"Well," Mum said reluctantly. "Not everyone... that kind of knowledge is dangerous in the hands of the wrong people. It's too much of a temptation. Back in the first reality, before we used the Tears of Merlin, Albus Dumbledore's portrait told us that we shouldn't play God. And frankly, we were very lucky that it turned out as well as it did. I don't regret it, of course. But I don't want my full story to cause people to make changes on a grand scale. Imagine if Voldemort..."

"Your Uncle Percy had a falling out with the family about it," Uncle Ron said when Mum's voice trailed away. "He wanted to go back and save the twins..."

"He didn't speak to us for three years," Mum said sadly.

I nodded, but my mind was racing. I abruptly stood up. "Can I be excused? I need to think." I didn't wait for a reply, but practically raced out of the living room (nearly knocking over Lily, who was lying in wait despite the Imperturbable Charm), and up the stairs and into my room. I threw myself down on the bed. The implications of time travel were immense. The fact that it was possible to change so much. Mum had said that everyone besides them had been dead. Everyone. They had changed everything.

And I could too.

I don't remember the exact moment that I had made the decision to go back in time. It seemed so obvious, I don't know why anyone didn't think of it before. Maybe if Dad had had an easier, gentler life, he wouldn't have gotten weak. He wouldn't have died. A half plan began to form in my mind. I could change the prophecy. It didn't have to be Dad that became a Horcrux. He wouldn't have fought Voldemort, ever, and I knew that if it weren't for that asshole, Dad would live to a ripe old age.

He went back in time to save everyone. I could go back to save _him_.


	6. Percy

Sarah Black married Michael Sanders three days before I turned twenty two. And seeing the grim look on James' face, I was able to put aside the fact that I was going to head into the past in just one week. I am somewhat of an expert in sour romantic feelings (thanks to Emily Wilder who, ironically, works in the Love Division of the Department of Mysteries), so I grabbed two glasses of firewhiskey and sat down at the far table with him.

"Cheers," I said.

He gulped it down.

"You're staring at her," I told him.

"I don't give a shit," he said angrily. He summoned a bottle of firewhiskey with his wand.

I sat with him in silence for a few minutes while he drank almost relentlessly. James and I are about as different as night and day. He sleeps with pretty much everything in a skirt, and I hold my one and only kiss in a place of honor (though I hated her for pretty much ruining me for any other girl). James is brash and reckless, while I'm quiet and... well, I'm reckless. Considering the fact that I was about to head off to change the world as we knew it, I have to admit that I'm probably not the most cautious person in the world.

"I wish Dad was here," James said.

I didn't say anything, but I have to admit that I felt a little smug. If everything went according to plan, James would never have to live in a world when Dad died so young. I looked around for Mum, knowing that I probably wouldn't find her. Weddings made her cry, but not in the good way. I knew that she was probably thinking about Dad. I felt another wave of surety that I was doing the right thing. The Potter family would finally be whole again, and I'd be responsible for the happiness. I'm going to save him.

"Do you even miss Dad?" James asked accusingly, cutting through my happy thoughts. I was incredulous.

"Of course I miss Dad, you git!" I said forcefully. How can he even ask me that?

"You just never talk about him anymore," said James. He sounded very young all of a sudden.

I couldn't deny that. I didn't really bring him up. But not because I didn't miss him, but because I had this huge secret and I was afraid that if I talked about it, it would spill out. And I had a greater understanding of the wariness Mum and Uncle Ron had for time travel in general. But I was now a professional; when they had screwed things up, they'd been unaware of the Laws. But after five years in the Department of Mysteries, private research, and even reading all sorts of Muggle books (though this was mainly for enjoyment; The Once and Future King was my favorite because I sort of felt like Merlin) I was ready.

"It hurts," I said.

James took another sip. He didn't say anything, but just nodded again. His eyes drifted again over to where Sarah danced with her older brother. She looked very happy, and I didn't blame James for drinking. I was pretty amazed at his resilience; I wondered if he'd come to the wedding just to torture himself.

"I thought she'd wait," James said. "Isn't that stupid? She's practically a goddess, of course she found someone else."

I couldn't help it. I thought of Wilder, and how I was really glad that I'd never heard of her dating anyone. Before I decided to go back in time, I think that hearing about her dating some unpleasant bloke would have killed me.

I patted my pocket, suddenly uncomfortable. The paper that I carried around with me everywhere I went was still there. I could be honest and admit that saving Dad might have many different meanings for my life. Like a ripple effect, I guess. I didn't think that that horrible day in Hogsmeade would have happened, for instance. I won't lie and say that I haven't thought about it every once in a while. But in a general way. I could just see how much better all of our lives would be with Dad still here. I'd emerge from the past to find him waiting, scarless; and then I'd tell him everything. And he would laugh at first, trying to envision a world where he was the Boy Who Lived, where he'd lived such a harrowing life, and had died young. He might even thank me, but I could tell him that it was worth it. And that it was just my thanks to him.

I could practically hear it.

"Al... Thank you," he'd say. He'd have his arm wrapped around Mum, and she'd be weeping. "I am... so proud of you."

"It was worth it, Dad," I'd say earnestly. "Always and always."

"Al?" James asked, interrupting my thoughts once more. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," I said. "I need to go find Uncle Percy."

"He already left," James shrugged. "You know how he is. I think he said he went to the shop."

After Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey had divorced, he had spent almost all of his time at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. I couldn't blame him for wanting to stay away from weddings. I wasn't given all the particulars, but I knew that Uncle Percy had been quite broken-hearted. I knew that I was about to take advantage of him, but it really was for the greater good. No one else would be too pleased to know what I was planning.

I glanced around at the crowded dance floor. Sarah and Michael were swaying slowly in a crowd of enthusiastic dancers. I knew that my presence wouldn't be missed, not with the firewhiskey flowing freely. So I walked out past the tables and Disapparated to Diagon Alley. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked slowly to the garishly decorated building that was so beloved of wizarding children and students at Hogwarts. And Uncle Percy really did a good job with it. He was really gentle with the children. I used to wonder why he kept this going when he would obviously have been better suited to a job in the Ministry. But now I understood with absolute clarity.

Which was why I'd chosen to approach him.

I stood staring at the light in the window for a full minute before I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

"We're closed!" Uncle Percy called.

"It's just me," I said.

"Al?" Uncle Percy asked uncertainly. He came around the side of the counter. He still wore his dress robes, but he wore a flame-retardant apron over it, and his glasses were askew. Oh yes, I thought. I've chosen the right person.

"I need your help," I said firmly. I pulled the paper out of my pocket, the one that outlined the (relatively) simple process of using a Pensieve to travel time. I stared at it for a moment, and then handed it over to him.

His brows immediately shot up in surprise. "Al! What the hell is this?"

"I'm going back in time to save my dad," I said firmly. I wanted him to know that I was dead serious. "I've come here for a memory. That's it. Just a memory."

He stared at me without comprehension. "But why would you want to go back?" he asked.

"Because Voldemort killed him," I said. "He may not have been able to use the Killing Curse, but he killed him just the same. The Healers said that he just had a weak constitution, and I know that Voldemort contributed to that," I started to pace. "Dad was the strongest man I knew. And if he had a weak constitution, it was because he was hit by the Killing Curse twice -- three times if you count the first final battle!" It felt really good to finally put all of this into words.

"What is it you intend to do?" His brows slammed together, and he looked like a Muggle cartoon character.

"I'm going to make sure that Dad was never the 'Chosen One,'" I said. "And Uncle Percy," I tried to gentle my voice. I knew that I was talking a bit loudly. "If Dad wasn't the Boy Who Lived... who's to say that the Weasleys would fight at all? Not that," I added hastily when he looked offended, "that you'd be on the wrong side! But Granddad and Grandma weren't involved at all until Uncle Ron became friends with Dad. They'd be safe."

Uncle Percy took a long time to answer, and I had to force myself not to fidget. I had to appear utterly relaxed and confident. I was certain that everything would work out. But Uncle Percy would need me to be totally solid.

"Did you know..." Uncle Percy said. "I was there with the twins. We were distracting Voldemort from figuring out that Harry was alive. And... I was just behind them. Just barely behind them. Fred was killed first, and then George... and George shoved me out of the way. I was his big brother, you know, it would be like if Lily took the curse meant for your body. It's wrong. It should have been the other way around."

I didn't say anything.

He heaved a great sigh. "What memory do you need?"

"Halloween," I said. "1981."

"Does it have to be of your dad?" he asked. "When I found out about it?"

"No," I said. "I've already checked. I'll still get there two days before, that's when the new moon is... it's difficult to explain--"

"I know how Foci Memoria works," he said. He retrieved a small, empty jar, and held his wand to his head. Moments later, the jar was filled with the memory. My hand trembled a little when I took it. I was grateful for his help, but it seemed a little too easy. I'd been prepared to try to convince him.

"Al," Uncle Percy said. "Save my brothers."

"I promise," I said.

--

--

**Author's Note:**

_Solstice, the name of Al's owl, is courtesy of Patamon32. _


	7. Time and Change

The corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries was dark. Normal working hours had long since ended, and I could not detect neither hide nor hair of any other human being. I patted my pocket. I had my scrap of paper and my uncle's memory. I was ready to go. I clenched the paper in my fist, and kept walking.

The time travel method of Foci Memoria was made for my situation. My parents had used the Tears of Merlin, and while that had been the right choice for them, using memories as the vehicle for transportation was really the only possible way I could do it. I didn't have a physical body back then; I had not yet even been conceived. I'd briefly toyed with the idea of using the Trojan Horse method, but that would have required blood sacrifice on the part of someone not me. No, Foci Memoria was a simple, elegant solution. All it took was a memory, and I'd have a month long sojourn in the past.

Quite enough time to ensure that my dad was not the Chosen One. I felt a small surge of guilt that I was basically going to saddle someone else (probably Neville Longbottom) with the prophecy. But if it was Neville Longbottom... he'd been tortured into insanity years and years ago. Anything was better than that. Anything. I had no idea what it would mean for the time travelers, but if Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron came back, they'd be able to help Neville.

And I myself wasn't the one tweaking the prophecy. I was just going back in time; I didn't have to worry about the "Pain unto Death" like the Laws warned about. It was possible that my sudden presence would change the prophecy, and take away the "bent for always and always" line. The universe was pretty damn smart about these types of things.

So it was that I opened the door to the spinning room, said "Time" firmly, and walked through the maze of artifacts to find the Pensieve. I did spare a glance at the darkened windows of the offices. My supervisor, Adam Black, had a penchant for talking loudly, eating sweets, and working all hours of the night. The man was brilliant, but more than a little crazy. I did not hear any polka music, nor did I see strange lights coming from the third window on the left, so I figured I was safe--

"Wise Asp?" A smug voice. "Al_bus _Sever_us _Pot_ter_?"

_Not now_, I thought desperately. I _hate _it when she jumps out at me, and with us working in the same Department (albeit in different Divisions), it happens all too often. "Hi, Wilder," I said. _Act calm, Al, _I told myself. "What are you doing here so late at night?"

"Oh, we just finished having an orgy in the Love Room," she said flippantly. "You know how we are..."

I choked on my own saliva, and spun around toward her. "Wha--? No -- you don't _really_!"

She was laughing by the time I finished spluttering and had retreated to mutinous silence. I hated it when she made sexually suggestive comments. She did it all the effing time; she must know that it drove me crazy. I was always visited by visions of her honey colored hair making a curtain around my face as she kissed me. Her skin was always impossibly soft (or I imagined that it was). I turned away and strode over to some random artifact, and tried to pretend that right before visions of her naked had struck me almost blind, I had _not _been thinking about how I was just about to travel through time.

And I couldn't afford to be useless just now. _She must have been following me_, I thought resentfully. She deliberately tried to torment me, she really did. She _knew_ how I felt about her; she'd made it perfectly clear what she thought about me. The fact that she kept following me and making comments that tortured me... it was just cruel. I suddenly felt the urge to--

"What is this, Albus?" she asked.

My heart seemed to fail. The tone of her voice mingled confusion and suspicion, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that the scrap of paper was no longer in my hand. I hesitated. "It's just a joke."

"Don't lie to me," she snapped.

"And you've never lied to me?" I countered.

She looked as though I'd slapped her in the face. "Are you _still _on about that? Is that why -- I was fourteen years old, and you were a head case about your dad!"

"I wasn't--"

"And it looks like you still are!" she said loudly. She waved the little scrap of paper about and I saw red. I dove for it, but she put a table of Time-Turners between us. "What the hell do you think you're going to do? He wasn't _murdered,_ Al!"

He was, I thought fiercely. Maybe not directly, but he was still murdered. I didn't say anything out loud, though, but I followed her around the table. "How do you know it's my dad?" I asked.

"Of course it's your dad," she said. "You've always wanted to be just like him. You took the same classes he did, you tried out for Seeker every year, don't think I didn't know. And I imagine you still miss him a lot, but how the hell could this bring him back? He was sick!"

I drew my wand faster than she did, and a moment later she was unconscious on the floor. Heart crashing wildly in my chest, I pulled the paper out of her hand. I rearranged her limbs so that she looked more comfortable. "I'm sorry," I said. And I actually meant it. I might even get a chance to make it up to her someday. I'd tell her that I'd had to stun her, and we'd both laugh about it...

I shook my head firmly. I walked over to the Pensieve. I cast a wary glance over at Wilder, who still lay prone on the ground. And just in case she woke up, I cast a protective circle around the artifact. I couldn't have her interrupting the process. And then, because the ground looked really hard, took down the circle, transfigured a quill into a pillow, and remade the circle. This would take a few moments, and I wanted her to be comfortable.

Then I took a deep breath. I reached into my pocket, found the jar, and dumped the swirling, misty silver into the Pensieve. I stared down at it for a moment, and I thought I saw the face of a little boy who could be Uncle Percy. I traced the runes around the edge of the silver basin. So few people knew Ancient Runes anymore. They would not recognize the rune for time, or the rune for change. I pointed my wand at it, muttered a simple spell, and the runes switched. The memory immediately turned a dark blue, the color of the night sky, and I marveled a little at how time looked a little like space. It fit. They were both infinite.

I held out my hand, and with one slash of my wand, I cut a gash in my palm. I watched it bleed freely. At first I could see no difference. But then little bright specks that looked like stars swirled faster and faster. And right before it raised up to meet me, or I bent over to dive into it, I spoke the incantation that would erase me from this time. And with a melting sensation, I slid into the Pensieve, and into the past.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

**The Laws of Time Travel:**

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death. _

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death. _

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death._


	8. Pain Unto Death

**IF YOU ARE CONFUSED, DO NOT NEGLECT THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

All in all, time travel is a highly unusual occurrence. I literally watched myself transforming from the same material as a memory and into solid flesh. I knew exactly where I was, though the trees in the orchard appeared younger, and the Burrow looked quite shabby. I automatically moved toward the cover of trees, though I knew that they could not see me while my body was still taking form. I could hear the sound of an infant crying and realized, with a great sense of the surreal, that it was my mother. _My mother is a tiny baby_.

I was tempted to try to catch a glimpse of her, but I needed to get out of sight of the Burrow before I became fully flesh and blood again. I glanced down at myself and felt a wave of gratitude that my clothes, shoes, and wand stayed with me. It was one of the benefits of traveling through time with a physical body. Some of the others required being naked upon arrival. I felt inordinately cheerful as I walked beyond the boundaries of the Burrow's wards, becoming fleshier and less silver with every step.

By the time I made it to the country lane, I could feel the breeze on my face.

_And now_, I thought. _Time to find Pettigrew_.

It had been quite simple to cajole whatever information I had needed out of Sirius Black. All I'd had to do was ask a few pointed questions (but not too pointed; Sirius was no one's fool), make appropriate sounds of agreement ("Pettigrew was such an arse"), and then say something along the lines of "was he hiding near you? Where was he hiding?" This is not to say that Pettigrew -- or Wormtail, as the others called him -- was not one of the primary villains in Dad's stories. I was not just trying to trick Sirius into giving me decades old information; I ranked Pettigrew right up with Voldemort.

I decided to walk a little way down the road before I Disapparated. The landscape was so familiar, and yet strangely altered. Even the mountains seemed slightly different, though I realized that was illogical. Unless the mountain was, in actuality, the largest and slowest-moving giant in the world, it would not have changed much in a few decades.

"Happy Halloween!" someone called in a jaunty tone.

I looked around. A small family sat on a picnic blanket a little way off the road; they were dressed in outlandish costumes. Even the baby was dressed in a scaly purple outfit and had a large horn stuck on her forehead. The man, who had a cloud of hair that stuck out like a dandelion, was dressed as a giant eye. "Happy Halloween," I said politely, despite the fact that it was two days early.

"Don't come any closer," said the woman. She had her wand out.

"Be kind to strangers, they may be Merlin, Zella," the man said absently.

"Or Death Eaters," the woman said serenely.

I was a bit taken aback, but I nodded to them and continued on my way. I did not want to engage them in discussion, though it was a bit odd to see witches and wizards so willing to attack each other. They'd seemed like a nice couple, though, and they were probably just protecting their baby. But still.

I waited until I was around the corner and out of sight before I Disapparated.

Peter Pettigrew lived in a small cottage in Devonshire. It was not actually his. The Order of the Phoenix had provided the traitorous asshole with it. Actually, Granddad Potter and Sirius had helped fund it, a fact that filled me with disgust. Not for Granddad and Sirius, but for Wormtail, who betrayed them and took their money while doing it. I hoped that he would be difficult about it.

Let me just say that I love blood wards. Once Sirius had told me what sort of protection Wormtail had, I'd felt this immense sense of relief. I'm not bad at breaking wards and curses; Uncle Bill had seen to that. He'd taught all of us how to do it safely. But breaking a ward can generally send a great big warning to those who are monitoring it. The last thing I wanted was the Order of the Phoenix to interrupt. But with blood wards... because I had Granddad Potter's blood running through my veins, I could just walk through them as if they weren't even there, as he'd been keyed into it.

I did so, unable to stop a smile.

I was a little surprised at the state of the cottage. I hadn't really considered it before, but if pressed, I would have guessed that Wormtail had lived in squalor. He seemed like the type to be slovenly. But there was hardly anything in it at all except boxes, a bed, and a decently maintained sofa. Wormtail lay on it, staring at the ceiling.

"Hi, Wormtail," I said pleasantly. He jumped up and squeaked.

Which reminded me to cast the charm that would force him to stay in his human shape. His watery eyes widened at that.

"J-J-James?" he said. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Lily and Harry?"

"Don't," I said. I sent a little Stinging Hex at him and he screamed and cowered before it even hit him. "You don't get to pretend like you haven't sold them out to Voldemort, you pathetic piece of shit."

"I didn't!" he said. "I didn't! I didn't! James, it's Lupin that's the traitor, remember?"

In honor of my mum, who had been great friends with Remus Lupin's wife, who had died at the hands of Wormtail, I cast the Bat-Bogey Hex at him. I waited patiently while bats flew out of his nostrils, and he jumped around waving his hands. "Tell me where the Potters live."

"But--"

He was obviously confused, and I had no desire to enlighten him. "Just tell me where they live."

He gaped at me. "Why would I need to tell you where you live?"

"Just give me the fucking address," I said. I slashed his legs with two Cutting Curses. Just to let him know that I meant business. "I will keep hurting you." When he didn't answer for several seconds, I hit him with a Bludgeoning Hex that knocked him off his feet. "You don't need to worry about why I need it. And what's the matter with telling me, anyway?" I had to admit that I was enjoying myself a little. This man had really fucked up three generations with his one act of betrayal. "You already told Voldemort."

"I didn't--"

"Are you actually going to lie?" I laughed incredulously. The pathetic piece of shit's betrayal was famous. He was slowly backing away, toward the table where he had left his wand. I summoned it and advanced on him. "Tell me. Or I will use the Cruciatus Curse on you," I said. I was almost entirely certain that I was bluffing, but Wormtail didn't know that.

I was a little disappointed when he gave it up. I never realized how satisfying it would feel to hurt the man who had hurt my family so badly. It was probably for the best that he stuttered out the address, though I couldn't help but wonder how far I would have gone.

Once I remembered where, exactly, in Godric's Hollow my grandparents lived, I set about the task of removing the memory of me from Pettigrew's brain. I'm not going to lie and claim that I'm not particularly skilled at Memory Charms. Dad was better at the defensive magic (and I'm not horrible either), but I'm better at the delicate spells. And potions. Dad used to say that I'd probably gotten it from Grandma Potter.

I regretted having to heal Wormtail's injuries. In fact, I left one of the deep cuts on his thigh, and implanted a memory of how he had gotten it. I left him dozing on the couch, and hunted through his things to find enough galleons to fund my stay at the Hog's Head Inn for the duration of the month. I took more than I needed, just to spite him. I walked out of the house, feeling light and relieved. I'd only been in the past for a few hours, and already I'd accomplished my first goal. I couldn't help but do a shuffling little dance of victory before I whirled on the spot and Disapparated to Hogsmeade.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

I waited under the Disillusionment Charm for Voldemort. It was Halloween night, and Muggles were going about their business, wearing costumes and going door to door asking for candy. I forced myself to watch them to calm my nerves. My palms were sweaty, and it did not help that the air had the oppressive weight of a storm. Thunder kept rumbling in the distance. I'm not afraid of storms; it had never before occurred to me to be nervous about a storm. But this one... it seemed ominous, and I could feel it in my bones.

My plan was quite simple. As soon as Voldemort arrived, I would cast a Memory Charm, making him forget that he had ever even heard about the Potters. I was reasonably certain that this would work; but my heart thumped inside my chest nonetheless. I would have to be very fast.

I stood on the stepping stones that led to the cottage's front door. I guarded it against entry. I could hear the happy sounds of my grandparents talking to one another while a baby -- my dad -- laughed. Twilight deepened, and I knew that Voldemort would show up at any moment.

And one moment the lane was clear, and the next moment a black shadow appeared.

The thunder grew louder, and my bones vibrated with it.

The closer he came to me, the louder it got until he was only feet away and my ears were ringing with it. I opened my mouth to cast the memory charm--

And was felled by a jolt of pain so terrible and vast that for a moment I thought I would surely die. Voldemort did not even pause, but walked past me. It confused me that he did not hear my scream, until I remembered that he was blind and deaf to my presence. I stumbled to my feet and staggered after him. Every inch of my body ached, and little bursts of pain erupted on the surface of my skin.

He opened the door. I was two feet behind him when Granddad came running out. I desperately raised my wand again and tried to stun him--

And while I was pinned to the floor, Voldemort killed him. I tasted blood in my mouth, and realized that I had bitten my tongue. Voldemort climbed the stairs, and I half-walked, half-crawled after him. Doom pressed down on me. I knew what this pain meant; I was breaking one of the Laws. Maybe it's just Granddad that can't be saved, I thought desperately. I held on to the wall and went as fast as I could. _Maybe I can still save Grandma..._

I could hear her frantically trying to create a barrier. "_Accio_ Grandma's wand!" I shouted. It zoomed toward me just as Voldemort forced his way through. He didn't notice either the wand or my shout.

"Not Harry, not Harry, not Harry!" Grandma begged.

The air seemed thick and oppressive, and every step hurt like hell. I have to try. I can't give up. I have to try. I tried to toss her wand to her while she pleaded, but was frozen by pain so intense that I thought I would surely die. I was up against the wall, pinned there by fate's displeasure in my attempted interference. I tried once more. I attempted to push myself off the wall, to tackle Voldemort, to do something, anything, but the Law (or Laws) I was attempting to break held me fast.

It hurt worse than all the physical pain in the world to watch the green light flare, and Grandma Potter fell to the floor. "No, no, no," I said. But Voldemort could not hear, so I had to watch as he sent the curse at Dad. I watched it rebound. The roof blew up with great force, and moonlight illuminated the room. I watched his body fold in on itself and turn into a malevolent cloud of pure evil. As soon as it happened, I was released. I fell to the floor, shaking and retching while Dad cried in his cot.

I_ had failed_.

Voldemort's incorporeal "body" whirled and swirled in confusion before it slowly, steadily began to rise.

Dad's head was gashed open and it bled freely. I took the Disillusionment Charm off myself. And for a moment, just a moment, I thought that Voldemort had noticed me. But the shade continued to flee.

I picked Dad up. "I'm sorry, Dad," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

My mood steadily darkened (and I had not thought this possible) as the night wore on. More and more people were celebrating, and the Hog's Head Inn was loud and raucous. It infuriated me that they were so insensitive. Here they were, drinking to the Boy Who Lived -- my dad -- and they didn't seem to care that his parents had just been murdered. I couldn't get the image out of my head. Dad, crying in his cot, his forehead gashed open, and my grandparents dead. And me. Pinned to the wall like a freaking portrait and completely useless.

Maybe I just should've taken the curse for him, I thought darkly. This was after nearly a bottle of firewhiskey and the bartender -- I realized with a jolt that it was Albus Dumbledore's brother -- was giving me wary looks. I suppose I looked out of place. I was the only one, apparently, that didn't think that a double murder was cause to freaking rejoice. I felt like James when I continued pouring the strong alcohol down my throat. The one way that I could save him, I thought. I came back in time to do one damn thing, and I couldn't even do it.

I glared up at the ceiling, as if it was where the universe, fate, and the freaking laws of time travel congregated. Apparently, the prophecy could never have been the anvil around Neville Longbottom's neck. I felt cheated on behalf of my dad. The prophecy had been made before he'd even been born, and it had always been attached to him. The more I drank, the angrier I got.

"--he's really gone! Albus Dumbledore confirmed it, I heard Minerva say," crowed one squat, balding wizard.

"--just can't believe it," his friend said just as loudly. "I've never been happier--"

"TWO PEOPLE WERE JUST MURDERED!" I roared. I was on my feet, wand in hand. I was almost beyond furious at this point. If the tall one wearing pajamas hadn't spoken up, I might've hexed someone.

"Sorry, mate," he held up his hands. "I know. It's just--"

"It's just nothing," I said. The bar had quieted, but I didn't care. "Two people were murdered. And Harry Potter isn't even two years old and he's an orphan, and now he's got a prophecy hanging over him, and all you people even care about is the fact that you're free. But it's a freaking high price to pay, and I'll bet you're pretty glad that it wasn't your family that got screwed, right?"

"Listen, you," the balding man said angrily. "Obviously you've been living under a rock for the last eleven years, but You-Know-Who being gone is good news for everyone."

I snorted. I glanced around at the crowd. Two blond women stared at me thoughtfully; a dark, silent man eyed me with an intensity that made me suddenly uncomfortable, so I took another pull of my drink. "Yeah, it's pretty great news all right," I forged onward. "Meanwhile, a baby is now a marked man. Just because he happened to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time. '_The Chosen One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches; born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power that the Dark Lord knows not_,'" I stopped myself, then. I wasn't nearly drunk enough to give away the bits about the time travel. "And that power? It's pretty freaking terrible. A terrible freaking power."

Everyone was silent. I stumbled away from them, toward the men's restroom. It was sort of hard to walk, like I'd had the Jelly-Legs Curse placed on me, and just as I was about to enter, I knocked into someone. "Sorry," I mumbled.

Something punched me in the back, and the world went dark.

I blinked, and saw two people staring intently at me. I knew exactly who they were; I'd seen their portraits often enough. I'd been named for them. They looked exceedingly confused. I started to laugh.

Severus Snape waved the air in front of his face, looking disgusted. "He's a drunkard," he said derisively.

"A drunkard that quoted the prophecy," Albus Dumbledore said wearily, as if he had said it before. "To a roomful of people."

Severus looked away. He looked a lot younger than his portrait, but I supposed that only made sense. I'd always thought he was pretty homely, what with his sallow skin and greasy hair, but he looked downright ugly just now. Then I remembered that the entire reason why he was a hero in the first place was because he'd loved Grandma Potter, and she had just died. My stomach twisted painfully as I saw her fall to the ground in front of the cot again.

I tried to sit up, but I realized that I was held down with tight black ropes. It just keeps getting better, doesn't it?

"How did you know the prophecy?"

I stared at the both of them. In my defense, I probably wouldn't have told them anything -- nor would I have shouted in the bar -- if I hadn't been more than a little drunk. But my father had named me after them, and he expressed regret often enough about the fact that he'd not told the first Albus about his experiences in another lifetime. "I grew up with it," I told them.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Severus snapped.

"I'm from the future," I said. "Could you loosen these ropes a bit? I've already gone up against the universe today, and frankly, my nerves are shot."

The other two exchanged incredulous glances. I should have realized that they wouldn't believe me right away, but honestly, what sort of other explanation was there? I look like my dad, who looked like Granddad Potter and had Grandma Potter's eyes. I know about the prophecy... but obviously, they were going to require some other proof. I wracked my brain, trying to find exactly the right words to say. It was pretty difficult to do; thinking does not come naturally when I'm drunk.

"Er, hold on a moment," I said. Think, think, think. "All right... you, Severus -- you don't mind if I call you that do you?" I ignored the fact that he obviously did mind. "You were--"

"Which Potter are you?" he asked. He looked furious. "James is the only one left--"

"I'm Albus Potter," I said. "Albus Severus Potter." I couldn't help but feel a little smug at the stunned look on Severus' face. I'd completely forgotten the animosity between him and Dad. It had always unsettled me a little that Dad had named me after someone who had hated him. "I'm Harry Potter's son. You know, the one who was just turned into a Horcrux."

"Well, Albus--"

"Please, call me Al," I said. I almost added that 'Albus' sounded old and stodgy, but I managed to stop myself just in time.

"You do realize that you sound insane?" Albus said calmly. But I could tell that I'd thrown him with the Horcrux comment.

"What? Like any other explanation makes sense?" I countered cleverly. "Hold on. I can prove that I know things about the two of you that I'd only know if I'm telling the truth."

I sat in silence for several minutes. Severus' face was growing steadily angrier, until his lips were pulled back from his teeth and he was practically growling at me. "All right... you were in love with Grandma Potter," I screwed up my face. "Er... your patronus is a doe, just like hers. Albus, you've got the Elder Wand. Let's see... damn it, I know more stuff," my head was beginning to spin from the events of the evening and the fact that I'd not had any sleep for I don't know how long. "Shit. Think, Al, think."

"Get Veritaserum, Severus," Albus said sharply.

"Why didn't you think of that before?" I asked. "It'll make all of this so much easier."

"I think it's better if you just stop talking until it can be proven that you are not lying," Albus said, as Severus walked, hunched over, out of the room. I was glad for the excuse to be silent. I kept picturing over and over the way my grandmother had spread her arms and fallen, and the way my father cried in his cot. It wasn't until Albus loosened my bindings a bit and handed me a tissue that I realized I was crying.

I told them everything I knew. I told them about the time travel, the prophecy, Dad's death, everything. I could tell when Albus started to believe me. He gave a great long sigh and sat back. Severus was more inscrutable, though that might have been that despite the fact that I was basically handing them the knowledge of their futures to them on a silver platter, he found it difficult to concentrate. Every minute or so, he screwed up his face as though he was in terrible pain, and I knew that meeting a time traveler was second to the pain of Grandma Potter's death.

It was very late when I finally fell silent. I was mostly sober at that point.

Albus did not speak for long moments. "It was very reckless, what you did," he said quietly. "I believe you had the best of intentions, but attempting to change the prophecy--"

"I wasn't trying to change the prophecy," I interrupted. "I just meant to shift it over to someone else."

"Yes," Albus nodded. "Neville Longbottom."

He did not come out and say in so many words that my coming to the past had been a mistake. But I felt the weight of it all the same. I was certain that he thought I was selfish for wanting it to be someone else -- anyone else -- but my dad. And after seeing the way Granddad and Grandma Potter had died...

I drew in a deep breath. Still, said a small voice. Even dying at the age of thirty nine would have been better for Neville Longbottom than what actually happened. I knew what being the 'Chosen One' entailed. I didn't really wish it on anyone, but fate was even more immutable than I thought even yesterday, and prophecies will not often be diverted. Was it really so bad that I just wish that my dad hadn't been the one to get stuck with it?

"You did change the prophecy," Albus said in a light, almost casual voice. "It now has the word terrible in it. Your father's power is no longer a plain-old power, but a terrible one."

I stared at him, completely bewildered. "That makes no sense," I pointed out. "I did not actually change anything." But I remembered that moment when it seemed as though the black shade of Voldemort had seen me before it fled. Could that have caused the change?

"I wish," Albus said. "I wish that you had left the past alone."

"And I wish that I'd actually accomplished what I came to do," I said firmly.

"Severus," he murmured. "Go help Aberforth with tracing the others that were at the bar this evening. I think we are done here." He looked at me fully, and I felt the weight of his disappointment. I resented him for being able to do this to me. He simply didn't understand. But guilt built up inside me.

"I judge it best if you stay here until you return to your own time," he said. I knew that he wasn't giving me a choice. "Meanwhile, we will do our best to prevent any disasters. I wish," he said sternly, "that you had not told a crowded bar about the prophecy."

It was a very long month.

**Author's Note:**

_Well. Why don't we play a little game? See... every time that Al makes a jump in time, the past catches up to the future. Which means that another lifetime passes by with Merlin's first changes. You guys should try to guess where in BWP things directly affected by this FIRST jump are mentioned. And kind of future is Al returning home to?_

_Also! I forgot to thank Zapatorf for the help with the particulars (i.e., the runes) of the time travel method. Thanks Zap. Also, thanks to Andi and Mel, who really helped me not go off the deep end today. And most days. Actually... I did sort of go off the deep end. They just tossed me some floaties. I have a feeling that when the S.L.F. come out to play, I'll need you guys even more._

_Now, to clear up some confusion._

_1) The Epilogue to Backward With Purpose is only achieved when Merlin makes all of his changes. So yeah, things like James being married to Sarah Black aren't true in all the rest of the realities. This is because of basic cause and effect. If A happens, it will lead to B, which will lead to C. _

_2) Al goes back in time 7 times. There will be some exposition explaining what changes occurred, but I'm not going to write a full-length novel describing these events. And yes, when Al returns to the future, he will find his past to be quite different. Because of the changes that he made in 1981. _


	9. You and Dumbledore

Everything looks strangely familiar to you. You look around in awe at the many portraits snoring, shuffling about, and eyeing you, and realize that even though you have only read of this place in a book and seen it in a movie, you know exactly where you are: Dumbledore's office. And there he is. The wise, venerable wizard. He sits behind his desk. His hands are steepled together, and his blue eyes are twinkling.

"Lemon drop?" he asks.

"Yes, please," you say fervently. You take the sweet, pop it in your mouth, and you are surprised at how bitter it tastes. It takes several moments before your lips un-pucker. All the while, Dumbledore stares.

"I'm really confused," you admit finally.

"That is nothing to be ashamed of," he says immediately. "Time travel is often filled with complexities not found in most other stories. Quite frankly, I think you have every right to be confused. It's only natural. Sometimes I wonder if the author is not insane for even attempting this."

"Me too," you say with a sigh of relief. "Backward With Purpose... it was so much simpler."

"Ah, and therein lies the crux of it," says Dumbledore. "As you know, Backward With Purpose has two separate timelines. The first happens in the prologue; you only ever get that little bit, with flashbacks thrown in to explain things a bit. But the meat of the story takes place after Mr. and Mrs. Potter and Mr. Weasley use the Tears of Merlin to send themselves back in time."

"Yes, I know," you say.

"Ah, but what you may not have guessed is that the story of Backward With Purpose does not, in fact, take place in the second timeline," says Dumbledore, "it is actually the ninth. The beginning of the Book of Albus -- in which Harry Potter is dead -- takes place in the actual second timeline."

"So, wait..." you say. "Is that why Harry was dead in the prologue at the age of thirty-nine? Because he was still alive in the epilogue in Backward With Purpose. And Harry was something like fifty in that."

"Indeed," Dumbledore nods. "When Al goes back to the future after he spends time with Severus and I in 1981 -- and I do feel badly about locking him up for the duration of the month, but honestly... he wasn't making the best of decisions -- it will be the set in the third timeline."

"I have another question," you say. "When Al goes to the future again... his parents and Uncle Ron have still used the Tears of Merlin, right?"

"Yes," says Dumbledore. "Al's story is leading to the epilogue in Backward With Purpose, and that is set in stone. He won't change it so drastically that his mum and dad and uncle never came back in the first place. You will find, however, that with each of Al's 'jumps' to the past, he changes things in subtle -- and not so subtle -- ways. I myself am very curious as to what kind of future Al will find after he had written that article."

"Ooooh," you say. "Me too!"

He beams at you, and Fawkes trills.

"Okay," you say. "Just to make it absolutely clear. Each time Al makes a jump, he changes things?"

"Yes," says Dumbledore. "And the thing to keep in mind is that after each jump, Al skips forward several decades. So his family has had almost a lifetime to deal with the changes he has made. And I assure you, in some instances, the timelines will be vastly different from one another. I am curious as to what might have happened had Voldemort found out about the time travel."

"Thanks, Professor," you say.


	10. The Second

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty one years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of seventeen during the Battle for the Diagon Alley. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his wife, Ginevra Potter, and their three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the Curse Breaker, William Weasley. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for his old mentor, Albus Dumbldore, dead these many years, minutes before he passed._

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, or the Molly Weasley Foundation for the Protection of War Orphans._


	11. Consequence

My prison was not exactly ankle chains and daily floggings, but I chafed at it nonetheless. I only really tried to escape three times, but Dumbledore was a damn good wizard, and I kept bouncing back after a mild twinge. It sort of annoyed me, though, that he was so confident in his prisoner-keeping skills that he didn't even take my wand away. And Severus! Every once in a while he came in to stare at me and mutter imprecations about Potters.

"How extraordinarily like your grandfather you are," he said on more than one occasion. "So arrogant! You think you can change the entire universe."

"Don't even pretend like you don't wish I'd succeeded," I said. I stared moodily at the tome in front of me. It was large, dusty, and almost unbearable, but I was trying to prove that I wasn't a complete moron, and _Practical Thaumaturgy_ was about the toughest thing I'd ever read. Past or future.

His lip curled. Severus was practically vibrating with rage all the time, and whenever he left, I was always surprised that he hadn't kicked me for either existing, or failing at my self-assigned task. A part of me wished that he would. I thought it might help with the near-constant belly-ache that I had. It felt like I'd lost my dad all over again. The one chance I'd had, and I'd never had a chance at all. I did not know which of the three Laws of Time Travel to blame. It could have been all three. I suspected that either I would not have existed if Dad hadn't been the Chosen One (which infuriated me), or that I'd played too fast and loose with the prophecy, and the universe had felt the need to smack me down.

It could have even been the Cornerstone Law, but I had no idea what the hell that was. No one did.

Severus made an angry, growling sound. I realized that he must have insulted me, and I'd been rude to ignore him.

"Sorry," I said.

He just threw me a disgusted look and left.

In my darker moments, I wondered why the hell Dad would name me after that asshole. Oh, I knew that he was a major hero. I knew that he risked life and limb to help Dad and Mum and the others to defeat He Who Must Have Been Born Without A Brain. I knew that he'd died to do so (both in Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ron's past life, and in the one that everyone else remembers too). But that did not make him any less of a dick.

Albus was even worse. He visited at least once a day. He was unfailingly polite. He asked a great deal of questions about the war, the Horcruxes, and everything like that. I could practically see his brain processing everything I told him; I had not really believed the family when they said that Albus was even smarter than Aunt Hermione. I believed it now. He did not, however, let me in on what he was thinking.

He did let me know in a thousand different ways that he strongly disapproved of the choice I had made. It was a physical presence in the room, his weight of disapproval. A conversation between three people: Albus, Albus, and Albus' Disapproval. It got worse every day, so not only did I have my stomach tied up in constant knots, but I had disapproval and even contempt sitting on my chest like twin elephants. I resented it. Yeah, it was stupid of me to come back. But how could I not try? The majority of me even kind of agreed with Albus and Severus. But I'd grown up knowing about Albus, his little sister, and his weakness for power in his youth, and his weakness for the Resurrection Stone in the twilight of his life.

And I hated the fact that those blue eyes were looking right through me, judging me, and finding me lacking.

So when the day of the new moon arrived, I was filled with acute relief. And when my hands started to become silvery and misty as the memory released me, I tried to be polite.

"It was -- er," I said. I wanted to be polite, but I also didn't want to lie. "Thanks for, you know"--l_ocking me up_--"giving me a place to stay while I was here."

The tall, white-haired wizard and the sallow, greasy-haired wizard just nodded. The wizards for which I was named, and they both held me in contempt. Merlin, I'd be glad to be back in the future. Even though I had no clue what I was to do next. Dad would still be dead. Mum would still never really smile. Our family wouldn't be what it used to be, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I sort of wished that I'd let Wilder talk me out of going. My chest tightened painfully. But I'd had to try...

Color slowly drained from the room. The portraits stopped moving and talking. Albus and Severus' expressions became wooden (more so than usual), until the room became still and silent, and I got the impression that I was looking at a Muggle photograph. A very old Muggle photograph that faded from bright, to sepia, to black and white. Finally, a gray fog blurred the edges, and the heavy silence grew louder and louder until it pressed down on my ears.

And right before the whispers started, I felt a pang, and Uncle Percy's miserable face was very vivid in my mind. "Save my brothers," he'd said.

But I only had a moment to spare to regret broken promises before a black wave of madness crashed over me, and I was swallowed in a sea of memories, visions, and voices. I was not even sure if I had a physical body; if I had, I'm sure that I would have vomited up my stomach. In a moment of sanity (a very brief moment) I wondered if I was breaking one of the Laws of Time Travel, or if I had been put under the Cruciatus Curse.

But then I began to merge with the future. Memory by memory, I inched forward into my own self. I was two becoming one, and it stretched my mind to the breaking point. I tried to close my eyes against the visions, but I had no eyes to close. I could not turn away, I had no head to turn. I tried to close my ears, but the whispers were relentless.

--_Voldemort knew about the time travel--_

--_we never found out how he knew--_

--_he struck when we least expected it--_

_--they were lost... every single one of them--_

--_we wish you could have known your Grandma, Al; she would've loved you very much--_

No, no, no, no, no.

What had I done?


	12. Conversation

It took one month to bind my memories to my body. One long, painful month for the body. And one long, painful month for my mind. As the memories swamped me, chill after chill swept over me. Grandma Weasley was dead. Sirius Black was dead -- Michael and Sarah Black had never existed. _Never existed_. Mum and Uncle Ron had always said that Dad had blamed himself. And that it had been completely ridiculous after everything he had done, the deaths still weighed on his shoulders.

I had never understood. Why would _Dad_, of all people, _ever _think that he was to blame? I'd always placed the blame squarely on Voldemort's shoulders. Dad had been a hero. He'd saved people. And to be perfectly honest, I'd thought his self-blame was a bit silly.

I lay on the floor of my small flat. My body tingled and my muscles ached. Tears leaked steadily out of my eyes, and I didn't bother to brush them away. Dark holes dotted my memory, and waking up to discover that my actions -- and I'd thought them to be so pathetically minor -- had caused the deaths and (almost worse) the nonexistence of people I cared about... it was singularly the worst feeling in the world.

I leaned over and vomited onto the carpet, glad that I was not at home or at the Burrow. Mum would fuss...

As if summoned by the thought, a large screech owl swooped in through the open window. I recognized it immediately as Rubeus, the family owl. In his beak was a scarlet envelope, and with a sinking feeling I realized that my absence had obviously not gone unnoticed.

"ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER!" Mum's voice screamed. I winced, and held a hand to my ear. It came away flecked with blood. "I DON'T CARE HOW OLD YOU ARE, YOU WILL CONTACT ME OR I'LL KNOW WHY! YOU'VE BEEN GONE A MONTH -- NO NOTE -- YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TO WORK -- YOU HAD BEST MARCH STRAIGHT HOME!"

I sort of just laid there, disoriented, and feeling a strong sense of guilt that clawed at my insides. My stomach felt like it was on fire. I lifted my hand and stared at the livid red scar that marked my passage through time. It seemed absurd that I once thought that Dad and I would exchange scars; his would no longer mar his forehead, and I would wear mine proudly.

_I need to talk to Albus_. The thought sprouted in my head. Albus was dead, but he had a portrait. I thought back, trying to figure out what had happened to Albus in this time. But all I could remember was Dad saying that Albus had given his life to help him, and so had Severus. But where the details should be, I only found a misty fog.

I hoped this didn't mean that my actions had killed him, but the fact that my father hadn't wanted to speak of it was ominous.

With extreme effort, I pulled myself to my feet. Rubeus glared at me reproachfully. I grimaced and scrawled a quick note, letting my mother know that I would come for a visit later... or tomorrow. I didn't know how long my interview with the portrait would last, but afternoon was waning and questions burned inside me.

Rubeus left. I hobbled around my flat like an old man. My hand felt as though I had placed a rather large brand on it, and every time it brushed up against something, it pulsed with fresh agony.

The pain would have been worth it had I not managed to fuck everything up.

It didn't help that I dreaded seeing the portrait. The last time I had seen Albus Dumbledore (admittedly, this was only a month for me, but was several decades to him), he had locked me up. I'd resented it but Merlin, I wished he'd locked me up sooner. I sat down at the edge of my rumpled bed and pressed the heel of my uninjured hand against my eyes.

_I could just not go_. The idea was tantalizing. No one had to know. I could just... get on with my life. Pretend like nothing had happened. Albus was dead. He was in his portrait, and he was the only one (besides Severus who, for all I knew, didn't have a portrait at all) who knew. I wouldn't have to see him at family functions or anything, not unless one of the aunts or uncles went really odd and started lugging him around.

I was tempted. I really was. I was more than ready to pull the bedclothes up over my head and pretend like nothing had happened, that I had not been the cause of even greater suffering. But...

I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

With that thought in mind, I pulled up my big boy pants and gathered the tattered edges of my courage and resolve and Disapparated.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It took some finagling to get a change to speak to Albus' portrait alone. The current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was genuinely curious about what had brought me to his office. He'd always been my least favorite professor, too, and he kept trying to stall leaving the room by offering tea and biscuits. I finally had to be rude and use the fact that I am an Unspeakable. It didn't help that Albus was obviously faking his snores.

"And what brings you to Hogwarts?" Professor Macmillan asked pompously. Despite the fact that he was _obviously _a former Hufflepuff (we used to call him the Puffy Prize, because his eyes are always red and runny, and he's got this way about him, like he's the Prime Minister of the world, or something), his eyes glinted with unhealthy curiosity. He might've added a bit of Slytherin to the mix. Not much, though. If I'd wanted information out of him, I'd have spiked the tea with firewhiskey. And maybe added a drop or two of veritaserum.

"Can't talk about it," I said repressively. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. And -- even though I had to bite back a yelp to do it -- I flattened my injured hand against my leg. I think Albus was staring at it. Professor Macmillan was too busy trying to figure out why an Unspeakable had come to Hogwarts. "Listen," I grimaced apologetically. I widened my eyes and tried to look contrite and forthcoming. "I know this really is an inconvenience, but my superior... he needs to make sure that no one knows about this. Could I have a bit of privacy?" Blame it on the superior. Macmillan could sympathize with that; he hadn't always been Headmaster. "You know I trust you, but we've got to follow protocol." Macmillan loved rules. I was prepared to lean forward and whisper something totally inconsequential and completely unrelated to my real reason for being there.

But resignation flashed in his eyes. I hid my triumph, and he sighed, standing up and dusting his sleeves. "Well, I know how that goes, young man," he said. "Tell your mother I send her my regards."

"I will," I forced myself to smile pleasantly at him. He was all right, I supposed, but I had the urge to lift him up bodily and throw him out of his own office. "Thank you, and I really regret the inconvenience."

He patted me on the shoulder and opened the door.

It slammed shut with an air of finality. I stared at it, feeling a growing sense of dread. I had my back to Albus' portrait. My wound burned, and the silence swelled horribly. I could not bring myself to turn around; instead I stared at my hand. It was growing difficult to breathe. "What have I done?" I asked finally. My voice cracked.

"It was not entirely your fault, namesake," Albus said. His voice was far gentler than I expected.

"That's impossible," I said flatly, implacably. "It was all my fault. People I love have been dead since long before I was born because of me. I remember when they were alive. I drank with my depressed brother at Sarah Black's wedding in -- in... what the hell is the date? But that doesn't even matter! She doesn't exist. Because I went back in time, and did something that caused her dad to die before she could be conceived."

I prowled around the room. I kept my eyes everywhere but on Albus' portrait.

"All right," he said pleasantly. "Assign all of the blame to yourself. Continue to be selfish. Wallow in what you have done for the rest of your life."

I whirled on him. "I haven't got a choice!" I shouted.

"Or," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "you could go back and fix it. And this time I'll help you do it."


	13. Empty Chairs

I knew immediately that he meant for me to go back in time again. I couldn't pretend stupidity; even in a portrait, those eyes were disconcerting. And considering the fact that I had just made things much worse for everyone, I ought to be relieved that he obviously thought there was a way to fix it. But instead I felt clawing fear. I did not, not, not want to go to the past again. I wanted to help; yes, I did. The awful guilt still seethed in my bloodstream. But I'd made things this much worse with one jump. Imagine the damage I could do with two.

I sat and fisted both hands in my hair.

"I do not know how he found out," the portrait said after a long pause. "I do not believe that your parents ever discovered the truth, either; if they did, they never told me. Nor did they tell anyone else."

My stomach knotted.

"The Order of the Phoenix... we were lucky that he thought the time travel was used for all the wrong reasons," he continued. "He could not possibly understand that your parents and uncle had lived in a world where he had been defeated, but at such a high cost that they were willing to fight him all over again. He thought they were refugees from a future in which he reigned, and when he was in the place to kill your father -- to attempt to kill him, excuse me -- he thought nothing of it. The fact that Harry was a Horcrux was kept from him, thank Merlin."

I nodded jerkily. It was a good thing. I was glad that Voldemort had been defeated. But the lack of knowledge as to how Grandma and Sirius and Uncle Charlie and Albus and Severus had died... it was ominous. My fault. "I don't think I can do it," I said quietly. "For one, I can't go back to the same memory--"

"I am aware of that," he said pleasantly. "I have a portrait in the Department of Mysteries. Adam Black has been most informative. Now, continue with your excuses."

"It's not just an excuse!" I said loudly. I clenched my fist and winced at the burn. "I made one jump, and look at what I destroyed! Voldemort found out about the effing time travel."

"I believe that it might have been a number of things that led to his discovery," the portrait said. "I don't believe that just your presence did it. Your father was never skilled at Occlumency, for one; Voldemort could have plucked the knowledge out of his head, and combined with the changes you made in the past, he was able to do the arithmetic. Voldemort was prodigiously intelligent, after all. These small things are what you would change. Not the big things. Not like attempting to divert prophecy."

"And how am I to know what's a small change and what's a big one?" I asked. "It's impossible. I'd just make things worse."

He stared at me. I felt the weight of it as I had in the past. He was measuring me, and he was not yet sure if he found me lacking. But that was all right. I found my own self lacking. "On the day Harry, Ginny, and Ron arrived from the future they revealed Peter Pettigrew as an animagus," he said quietly. "Sirius was freed. Pettigrew was locked up. But not for long. He escaped a year later. To be perfectly honest, none of us were worried."

I listened, almost hypnotized. I knew this story; Dad had saved his godfather from Azkaban the day he'd returned last time too. But it had not made much of a difference.

"Pettigrew returned to Voldemort with a tale of how he had been captured by a boy who had not known of the magical world. And yet the boy had known enough to reveal him as an animagus; had mentioned Sirius Black and his innocence," the portrait said.

"Don't blame Dad," I said, suddenly outraged. "He did everything right, it was me who effed everything up..."

"Make no mistake," he said. "A fair bit of the blame rests on your shoulders. Had you not come back, Voldemort obviously would never have been given enough pieces of the puzzle. But your father made mistakes. I made mistakes. Your mother made mistakes, and your Uncle Ron made mistakes. And your task will be to erase the pieces of the puzzle that you can, so that your own mistakes are hidden in the darkness and never come to the light."

I'll just make more mistakes, I thought hopelessly.

Again, he appeared to read my mind. "I trust that you have learned your lesson? You won't get drunk and pass out on the floor of a bathroom after spilling huge secrets to a crowded bar?"

A note of warning. Something was wrong with what he had just said, but I couldn't quite place it. I stared at him, mind whirling. The thought of wreaking more havoc in the past made me feel physically ill. My stomach pitched and rolled. If I did make another jump, who else would die because of me? Who else would become a dark hole in my memory? Dad and Mum would survive, of course, at least long enough to conceive me. More uncles? Would Granddad die as well? I looked down at my hands, lingering on the jagged wound that marred my palm. I did not want more deaths on my hands.

"I need to think about it," I said helplessly.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

The family home in Godric's Hollow was empty, but I knew immediately where else to look. It dimly registered that today was Sunday, which meant that I ought to have just gone to the Burrow in the first place. I'd wasted time Apparating to Mum's house in the first place. I rolled my eyes and turned on the spot. My first thought upon seeing the Burrow -- a favorite place of childhood wandering with my brother and sister and cousins -- was that already it was different. It seemed sadder. Gloomier. It even appeared to stand up straighter.

"Stop being so dramatic," I told myself. But I couldn't really help it. Guilt wasn't exactly a foreign sensation, after all, I'd treated Emmy Wilder like--

My thoughts halted abruptly. Why in the name of Merlin did I feel guilty about that Wilder cow? Except...

This body had never received a firm rejection in front of practically everyone in the Three Broomsticks. I had never invited her to Hogsmeade in my fourth year, right after Dad had died. I'd gone with her, but I hadn't tried to kiss her. She hadn't pushed me away after thirty seconds of blissful oblivion. And I hadn't spent the next three years at Hogwarts loving her and hating her in almost equal measure. The cold refrain "don't fucking use me as a distraction, Potter" did not march through my head at inopportune moments.

Instead, I had different memories, equally awful.

I didn't like what I saw, didn't want to face them, so I distracted myself by entering the Burrow and shouting "Hello!"

"Well if it isn't little Al!" said Uncle Fred.

Uncle Fred.

I gaped at him. On the one hand, I'd never met him. On the other... I had a lifetime of memories of him being my favorite uncle after Uncle Ron. He was lively, hilarious, and made such an effort to bring light and laughter to the family that it had taken years for me to realize that, for him, itwas an effort. He'd made happiness seem so natural that it wasn't until I'd come across him holding his son George and shaking with sobs that I realized that some of his laughter was probably faked.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Al," he said. He reached over and ruffled my hair fondly.

"The opposite of a ghost," I said before I could stop myself. I immediately laughed it off.

He gave me an odd look.

"How's the store?" I asked quickly, to change the subject.

"What store?" he asked.

I stared at him. I'd sort of just assumed that he'd be the true owner of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes; Uncle Percy had never liked it, not really. But Uncle Fred worked for Magical Sports and Games -- he always got James and Lily, who were interested in those things, prime tickets to Quidditch matches. And Uncle Percy ran the shop, and he and Uncle Fred rarely spoke to each other at family gatherings. I wondered why.

"Did Uncle Percy--"

But Uncle Fred did not finish his question, much to my relief.

"Al!" Lily shouted. She nearly knocked me over with the force of her hug. "Mum's hacked off at you," she warned. "Where were you? We haven't seen you in ages! You should go see her, she's in the kitchen, helping Aunt Fleur with dinner. James brought his girlfriend of the week"--she rolled her eyes and started pulling me into the dining room--"and she's awful, but they all are."

I was grateful for her constant stream of chatter. It saved me from having to say anything on my own. Instead, I stared at the mantelpiece, mind whirling. Tiny people in wizarding photographs waved at me. Dad. Grandma Weasley. Uncle Charlie. Sirius Black. At one point, cousin George toddled in and I absentmindedly picked him up when he demanded it. My wound throbbed viciously, but I ignored it.

And when Mum came in and hugged me tightly and then began demanding to know where I'd been and giving me disapproving looks when I wouldn't -- couldn't -- tell her, I tried to ignore that too. My family sat around the huge table piled with food that Grandma Weasley hadn't made. They laughed and made jokes and chattered about inconsequential things. But I couldn't help but see the empty chairs.

I sighed and looked down at the palm of my hand. I imagined that I could already see a second scar, a phantom brand.


	14. Preparation

_One Week Later _

_24 June 2028_

It irritated me to no end that Albus Dumbledore's portrait did not show any sign of surprise whatsoever at my reappearance. I felt like I'd been to hell and back in the last week, and my eyesight is good enough that I knew I looked it. My hair was not only untidy, but I hadn't washed it and my scalp crawled; nor had I shaved. I got perverse satisfaction from Professor Macmillan's mild look of disgust.

"I'll do it," I said, throwing myself onto the Headmaster's chair. I stuck my feet up on the desk. I'd never wanted to be a teacher, but it was a bit of a rush to be in this position.

"I knew you would," he said.

I pulled a face. "Listen--"

But he interrupted me. "I have had almost four decades to consider this matter, namesake. I knew you would because your task is not yet finished. It made the way I died far more bearable," he said. He paused for a long moment, as though weighing his words carefully. "You have yet to make the power terrible, you see."

"Wait, wait, wait," I rocked back in shock, nearly toppling the chair. "What the hell do you mean, make the power terrible? I don't want to do that! What the hell?"

The portrait just stared at me. I almost decided right then and there not to go through with it. I could have someone Obliviate me. I had a choice. But I couldn't get the image of a building being attacked with Fiendfyre; people I loved were in it. My Grandma. My uncle. Sirius Black. Their screams echoed in my ears, and it was as if I had done the murder and not Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. I'd been dreaming of it six times a night since I'd returned to the present.

"How am I meant to do that?" I asked.

"I've no idea," said the portrait.

The silence after that was more than a little uncomfortable. It hacked me off that he basically ordered me to go to the past, and he didn't even have a plan. Nor did he know what I was meant to do. _Make the power terrible_. This was Albus effing Dumbledore here; why didn't he know?

"So," I said flippantly. "Should I just head off now? Jump into a memory and hope for the best?" I contemplated my scar, and I used my wand to trace it. "Are you picky about which particular memory?"

"Namesake," his voice cracked like a whip, and I almost forgot that he was not even alive, was just a painting. "This is going to take care and preparation. Do not even think about getting near a Pensieve until we both agree that you are ready."

I couldn't help but feel slightly relieved.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

_18 September 2028_

"Mum?" I asked softly. We sat beside each other on the overstuffed sofa that Dad had bought ages and ages ago. She had the newspaper spread out over her lap. I forced myself to keep my breathing even. _You're just asking an idle question. Relax, Al, relax_.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"How did you and Dad and Uncle Ron do it?" I asked. "The Tears of Merlin, I mean."

She turned slowly and looked at me, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. None of us had asked before; Hugo used to hint that he knew, but I rather doubted that the anus from a purple crocodile had anything to do with it. I knew that whatever was done had to be pretty difficult; the universe did not let people travel through time like they were on a jaunty holiday. Each new moon, my scar burned ferociously, and I knew that someone had to be pretty desperate to try the methods. Except for Time-Turners. But they were so pathetically limited that it was barely even time travel. _I've become a bit of a snob_, I thought.

She studied me for a good minute. I tried to look as openly curious as I could.

"Not planning on using the knowledge, are you?" She asked. Under the dry humor, I could hear a genuine question.

"Of course not," I lied easily. "Why in the name of Merlin would I? I was just"--I softened my voice--"thinking about Dad. You know I joined the Department of Mysteries partly because of him," I continued. It was even true. I kept my eyes fixed on hers and was careful to blink a normal amount. "And you, of course. But I just... I want to know everything."

She melted. I hid my triumphant grin.

"Oh, Al," she said softly. Her eyes pooled with tears. "I miss your dad every day. It's so good to hear you talk about him, I worry about you sometimes."

"I'm doing all right," I squirmed. "I just want to know everything about his life and who he was. I never got a chance to get to know him as a man," I gave a pained sort of grimace that was trying to be a smile. "And combined with my job... you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Mum," I reassured her. I lowered my eyes to my hands and plucked at the material of the sofa. I felt a bit guilty for manipulating her like this. I didn't often use my Slytherin wiles, but when I did...

I returned to the Headmaster's office next day, armed with knowledge that made me feel slightly ill and more than a little afraid.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

_05 November 2028_

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You want me to Obliviate my dad?"

"Yes," the portrait said gravely.

"Right after he's just defeated Voldemort the first time?"

"Yes."

"You want me to make him think that the Deathly Hallows saved his life, and not Grandma Lily?"

"That is correct."

"He'll think that he's got to die," I pointed out the obvious. I was too rattled to attempt subtlety. I did not like this idea. Not at all. It made me feel sick to my stomach, the same way thinking about what they had done to use the Tears of Merlin made me ill. "Albus, I thought I was just going back to help ease the way a little, get them to trust you, and tell your portrait how to advise them. 'Don't try to change too much, namesake,'" I mimicked him. "'Be the butterfly, not the hurricane.'"

He pretended that I hadn't spoken. "And then, namesake, your final task is to Confund the rest of the world into believing that the Deathly Hallows are real."

"You have got to be shitting me!" I said loudly. My mind raced. Why in the name of Merlin would he want that? What purpose could that possibly serve?

"Yes," he said. "That was my little joke. I see by your face that you are not in the mood, yes?"

"I'm going to find the biggest, meanest portrait I can, and then I'm going to stick it in here with you," I said. This was not the first time I'd threatened this. I really meant it this time, though. I was almost inarticulate with rage. "I'm not going to make my dad think that he's got to die!"

"How many people died after he got struck with the Killing Curse?" Albus asked. "Your Uncle George. Ten Aurors. Your father would be the first to think that a little dread was worth saving their lives."

I said nothing.

"You have not yet learned that sacrifice is sometimes necessary," he said in a low voice. "Your father knew it. I knew it. I was tortured to death because I kept you a secret, namesake." His voice was like thunder in my veins, and I suddenly felt ashamed of myself for even arguing with him. "In this case, your father's intent to sacrifice himself will be what truly matters. He does not actually have to do so. But if he thinks he does, he will place his protection on those he loves. A sacrifice isn't a sacrifice if it isn't a sacrifice at all."

"You're using Slytherin wiles on me," I said weakly. And I couldn't help but be pulled under. He was right. _Damn it_. "You were in Gryffindor. That's cheating."

He said nothing.

I tripped over my thoughts, my brain was working so fast. "I'm not going to Obliviate him," I said. "I'll use another means... the Oblivion Potion, or... the Forget-For-Now Potion. Yes, that would probably work best. If I do this," I swallowed hard. I didn't want to. I really didn't. "I have to make sure I get it right. And if I take away his knowledge of his mother's blood saving him, he'd feel disoriented every time someone mentions the Deathly Hallows."

"Excellent," Albus said. It helped that he didn't sound or look enthusiastic. A look passed between us; we were like puppeteers, playing with Dad's life and thoughts. But it really was for the greater good...

"Do I want to know why you know so much about memory charms and potions?"

"I think I want to know a lot of things," said a low, dangerous voice. "Albus Severus Potter, what the _hell_ is going on?"

My stomach dropped. The moment suspended horribly, and an awful silence pressed down on me, like the calm before a storm that tore up trees and destroyed houses.

_Mum._

_Shit_.


	15. Imperius

"Mrs. Potter, I'm sure you--"

"I don't want to hear it from you, Albus," she cut in. "I want to hear an explanation from my son."

I never played Quidditch for my house team. I'm a decent player, but I was just never good enough. But I had good enough reflexes to know that I had seconds to escape, otherwise all the planning would go right out the window. I didn't look at Mum; I suppressed the urge to curse Professor Macmillan. I whirled around, grabbed the Pensieve from it's place on top of the cupboard -- _thank Merlin we had it out _-- and practically flew to the fireplace.

"Don't you dare!" Mum shouted. "I can't believe it," she sounded stunned. Relieved, I kept my eyes focused on the hearth. "Ernie... you were right."

"I've been suspicious for quite some time," the headmaster said. "_Stupefy_!"

I threw myself to the right and rolled away from the jet of red light. A vase of flowers exploded and I covered my head against the rain of glass. The portraits were cheering me on. I thought they were, at least.

"Don't hurt him!" Mum said loudly.

I grabbed a handful of Floo Powder just in time.

"No!" Mum bellowed, sounding more enraged than I'd ever heard. I sidestepped to avoid another stunner from the head master. The glass box that held the sparkling powder that was my only chance at escape exploded. I barely felt the shards impale my hands. I jumped into the fireplace, threw down the powder, and shouted "Al's flat!" The room spun out of sight, and my last glimpse of my mother was her charging toward me.

I stumbled out of my own hearth. I had to find Uncle Ron. I had to get that memory. My heart thundered in my chest when I realized that I was leaving again tonight. I had no choice. I had to be ready; I couldn't stay here any longer. My family would come after me, trying to stop me. _I should have listened to Emmy_, I thought for what felt like the billionth time.

"_Ivelario_," I said. The fireplace sealed itself with a wet sort of clang. The pensieve was very heavy and awkward in my arms, like a dead baby made of stone. I had to take a moment to just breathe. I had spent months and months preparing with Albus, but I felt like it was too soon.

I closed my eyes briefly, then snapped them open, whirled on the spot, and Disapparated. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's home was very close to my mother's, and I looked over at it nervously. It was dark, but I could not count on her staying away for long. She'd eventually make her way here, if only to enlist their help in finding me.

I pounded on the door. "Uncle Ron! Uncle Ron!" I shouted.

I rocked back and forth. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Uncle Ron opened the door. He suddenly seemed very tall and loomed over me. Could I even do it?

"Hey, Al," he seemed slightly surprised to see me. I caught a faint whiff of alcohol on his breath. He must've been out at the Leaky Cauldron with Uncle Fred. I hoped he'd had a bit; it would make this easier.

"Where's Aunt Hermione?" I asked. I walked past him and into the house.

"She's still at work," he said. He rolled his eyes. "The woman can't seem to help herself. She's got a new law she's trying to work through, you know, and she's fretting over it."

"And Rose? Hugo?"

"They aren't here," he said. He sounded slightly puzzled. "Did you need to talk to me about something? Are you all right?"

I turned my back to him. I wished I could be certain that he would give me the memory. I'd planned to work it out of him after a few firewhiskeys. I knew that my Slytherin wiles could eventually wear him down and lull him into showing me; it would have been simple to bottle up the memory. But I didn't have time. And I only knew one way to get what I needed. Fast.

"Yeah," I said. "I really am sorry about this."

"About what--"

"_Imperio_," I whispered, for the first time in my life.

I was very lucky. I had caught him by surprise, and he had been drinking, and I was in his mind and controlling him before he could even think to fight it. I kept my wand pointed at him. His eyes went vacant and he moved like a puppet, jerky and unerring, to the counter upon which lay his wand.

He held it up to his temple, and pulled out a wispy strand of memory. It clung to the edge of his wand. Wordlessly, I held out the pensieve. We both stared down at it for a moment as it swirled.

The door crashed open and it broke the spell.

"RON! I need your help -- it's Al!" Mum shouted.

Uncle Ron blinked rapidly. "Did you just place me under the Imperius Curse?" he asked blankly.

"_Stupefy!_"

I jumped behind my uncle just in time, and the red light hit him instead. He toppled over like a fallen tree. "_Protego,_" I whispered, and a shield erupted between me and my mother. I sidled over to the pensieve.

"Al, why?" she didn't even sound angry anymore, just stunned and confused and hurt. I could not look at her face. I hated seeing the horror on it. Instead, I stared at her wand arm. "You just used an Unforgivable. On your own uncle. Families don't do that!"

"I have to," I said. "I have to go back."

"That's ridiculous," she said flatly.

I wanted to tell her that I had to because it was my fault that people had died. I wanted to confess to her that I had to fix things. But I did not want to see the look on her face when I told her it was my fault that Voldemort found out about the time travel. The words stuck in my throat.

"Are you trying to save him? Is that it?" she asked.

That had been my first purpose. But it was impossible. The universe itself had given Dad only a short amount of time to live. Too short. Heart pounding, I focused all my attention on the nonverbal spell that would switch the runes and allow me to jump into the memory. They switched silently. She didn't notice.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, but he wouldn't have wanted it," she said.

"How do you know?" I asked belligerently. "Maybe he would have wanted to stick around. Stay with us. He didn't--"

"Your father understood what always and always means, Al," Mum said. Her wand was still trained on me. The shield was fading.

"It doesn't mean anything when people are dead!" I shouted, suddenly enraged.

"That's exactly when it means the most!" she bellowed. She made no sense.

I brought my wand down and slashed open my hand once more. I didn't give her another chance to argue or to stun me. I dove. I wasn't ready; I didn't feel like we'd discussed every possible outcome. But time had run out. Irony. Relief mixed with fear as the world faded away.

APAPAPAPAPAPAP

**The Laws of Time Travel: **(These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(The universe is not kidding about this one.)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

_Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are._


	16. Last Man Standing

_Holy shit, things have gone wrong_.

It was just one thing after another, and the fact that I'd arrived in some weird, misty place was just the final kick in the balls. Perhaps it had been impossible after all to travel back to a different reality. It should have been the same as before, though. The memories were the vehicle of time travel, and I ought to be able to I seethed until I realized that the vague, wispy shapes were in fact storefronts. I was in Hogsmeade. Not wanting to take any chances, I Disillusioned myself right away.

The streets were empty. Shops were closed. And if it weren't for the bleating of a goat coming from the Hog's Head Inn, I would have thought that I was completely alone. There was only one way into Hogwarts. I sighed, not wanting to come face to face with Aberforth again; he was a tricky blighter.

I cautiously pushed open the door and was relieved to see that the odd mist was not part of the memory but was, in fact, just something strange outside. An idle thought flitted through my mind: _I wonder if I'll always be immune to weird things_. And it was true. This was my second jump, and already I was adjusting my mindset to being a time traveler. It helped that I had so many different memories; a lot of the memories were even doubled, or only slightly changed.

_Yes, strange mist is the least of my worries_.

"I know someone's there," Aberforth said in a gruff voice. He was staring at the open door. I tiptoed past him until I was not in his line of sight.

And feeling a certain vindictive satisfaction -- no matter that I had deserved it, I was certain that he'd stunned me back in 1981 -- I yelled, "_Stupefy!_"

He bounced off the bar and fell to the ground. I leapt over him and pulled open the door that led to the private parlor upstairs. Ariana was there. Before I ran through it, I summoned an empty bottle of butterbeer and transfigured it -- crudely, but she was just a portrait -- into a pair of glasses. I didn't know how much she knew about Harry Potter, but it seemed best to complete the disguise. I clattered up the stairs, taking the charm of invisibility off myself as I went.

Fifteen minutes later, and feeling slightly hassled, I stomped up the secret passage, chuntering under my breath. "Stupid portrait," I muttered. She'd practically required veritaserum before she's swing open and let me up. "Doesn't know her place." After several minutes of a long, steep climb, a door materialized in front of me. I pushed it open, wondering what the Room of Requirement would show me.

A small, sparse bedroom. _Figures_, I thought darkly. I knew where I'd be staying for the remainder of my visit. A door materialized across from me. I stared at it, composing myself. I had a feeling that if I stepped through that door, I'd find myself in the headmaster's office. With Snape. And Dumbledore's portrait. I wondered if I'd ever find myself in a place with Dumbledore alive and Snape stuck on the wall. The mind boggled. _Focus, Al, focus_, I told myself sternly.

I flattened my fringe against my head, hiding the fact I had no scar. And I pulled open the door.

"Oh good," I said in relief. Severus jumped up from his chair, letting out a squawk of surprise. He drew his wand and almost hexed me before he sat back in surprise. "You're alone." I looked around the room. The portraits were openly staring.

"Harry," Albus said. He sounded quite surprised. "Listen to me, Severus Snape did not kill me, it was--"

I waved my hand. "I know. Did you see me attacking him? Severus, have you got any veritaserum?"

The sallow-skinned, greasy-haired man gaped at me. It turned into a sneer. "As you are no longer my student, Potter, it isn't necessary to call me professor, but I will not allow you to call me by my first name." He was clearly unsettled by my sudden presence. I suppose he was much more clever when he was holding someone prisoner.

"All right," I said easily, knowing this would unnerve him.

It did. A muscle jumped in his jaw. I couldn't hide a smirk. He scowled.

"The veritaserum?" I said politely.

"What is the--"

"Severus, perhaps it is best if you do as he asks," Albus' portrait said. He turned to me with his piercing eyes. "Do I take your presence to mean that you have accomplished your task?"

My mind raced. It was about four days until the final battle... Dad, Mum, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione were still in the planning stages of the Gringott's heist. "Not yet," I said cautiously. I pretended to be interested in watching Snape rummage through his cupboards. I placed my wand carefully on the desk and stepped away. The portraits eyed me with great interest; Phineas Nigellus was already snorting.

"You made that yourself?" I asked.

"Indeed," Severus said snidely. "Some of us have the patience to brew it, Potter."

I ignored this. "And you won't say that I've tampered with it? You know it's impossible, right? My wand is over there."

He eyed me suspiciously. "That is correct."

"And how much of the potion would you require someone to drink before you believed them?" I asked.

His face darkened even further. I was overdoing it, but last time he'd practically forced me to go swimming in a vat of the stuff. It had taken gallons upon gallons and my throat had gone dry from trying to explain it over and over again. I was not looking forward to a repeat performance. "Perhaps a third of the bottle," he finally said begrudgingly.

I drank the entire thing. I'd already planned on it, even if he said he'd believe after a teaspoon -- albeit that was highly unlikely. Perhaps the dramatic effect would soften him a bit. I waited for the fizzing sensation to die down.

"That was a very powerful truth potion," Albus said. "Was it wise to ingest that much?"

"It isn't firewhiskey, Potter," Severus said hatefully.

I sort of wished it was alcohol. _No drinking, Al, remember?_ "You've got the wrong Potter," I said cheerfully after a moment. This had been my favorite part of the last jump. I kept my eyes fixed on Severus' face. "I bring tidings from the future," I said. I'd been looking forward to saying that for _months_. "My name is Albus Severus Potter, the son of Harry James Potter, and you"--I indicated Albus, though I couldn't help but grin broadly at the slack-jawed expression on Severus' face. Last time he'd nearly wet his pants, and this time was just as good--"sent me back in time."

Albus recovered first. "To do what?" he said blankly. Severus was making gasping sounds. I knew he believed me.

"To help things along," I said. "To ease the way for Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron's trip to the past." I let that sink in for a few moments before I saw that I needed to clarify things. "They use the Tears of Merlin to change the outcome of the final battle. They win, but Dad always said that the price was too high."

"And you're going to change that outcome?" Albus asked.

"Oh no," I said. "No, no, no, no, no. I'm not allowed to interfere at all."

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

_The final battle_

And because I couldn't help myself, I used _Sectumsempra_ to slash open the heels of the Death Eater who had murdered Uncle Percy. He fell screaming to the floor, unable to move. I watched as Professor Flitwick, after looking around to see who had done it, whispered a charm I had not heard. The man began to turn gray and mottled with stone. From his screams, I knew it must be agonizing as, inch by inch, his body hardened. Flitwick waited until he could not scream anymore. The Death Eater's mouth was open in a scream, but his throat had turned to solid rock and he was silent.

"_Reducto_," Flitwick said harshly.

The Death Eater blew up. Little pieces of gray stone rained down.

_I'm going to have to remember that one_, I thought. I vowed not to do anything else. In some ways, time was more fragile than I could possibly imagine. Like a web--

I covered my eyes. The Web. The Tears of Merlin. How could I possibly have understood what had drawn them to time travel in the first place? They'd alluded to it. I'd known that they had experienced horrors. But when I'd found out the steps necessary to carry out that method of time travel, I couldn't really understand how desperate they must have been. I skirted widely around the body of Granddad Weasley, hiding my eyes and struggling not to vomit, and I began to understand that for Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron, the price wasn't too high at all.

I made my way to the center of the Great Hall where Voldemort dueled with three people I did not recognize. One of them, who had sandy-blonde hair and looked to be quite young, fell to the ground with a cry of anguish. His arm landed feet away from him and blood spurted out. Voldemort shouted another word and another young man with blond hair and a missing eye fell to the ground. He was dead. The man with the missing arm cried out again, this time in a pain that went beyond the physical.

"Enough," said Dad. He materialized out of nowhere. He'd been wearing his cloak. His robes were torn and he was caked in blood. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been cradling Uncle Fred, trying to staunch the blood.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. It echoed eerily, and I noticed, for the first time, that the Hall had gone quiet. I kept my eyes on Dad. His mouth was slightly parted and his eyes were wide enough that I could see the whites. He didn't appear to blink. The look on his face... I never wanted to see it again. I felt weary and bruised watching the destruction. Each death had been a punch to the gut. And knowing that it was so much worse for him, and seeing that plainly written on his face...

"Have you run out of people to die for you?" Voldemort sneered. His wand was up and pointed at Dad's heart.

Dad said nothing, though he flinched. His hands were empty and held loose at his sides.

"Do it," he said.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And as if both had been struck by the Killing Curse, and not just Dad, both fell to the floor. I knew how the story ended, but my heart still galloped inside my chest as the seconds passed. I stared down at Dad; I hated what I had just seen. He hadn't even had his wand out... and he had no idea that he'd be given a second chance. But what struck me the most was that he was actually younger than I. In body, at least. I was exactly his height. We looked enough alike to be twins, everyone always said so. But my shoulders just weren't wide enough to carry the burden he did.

Voldemort stirred first. And because I was watching Dad so closely, I saw when he began to breathe once more. _He actually was dead_, I thought, more than a little awed.

Dad lurched to his feet, and I had to feel a bit relieved that he had his wand in his hand. Voldemort stared at him, eyes wide with fear. He shouted a spell and a sickly purple light struck Dad. But Dad didn't flinch. Voldemort practically radiated fear.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

And it was over. For now.

Dad walked straight out of the doors. He did not look back. I knew this was the moment; I knew that I had to take away his memory of dying and coming back to life. I followed him on shaky legs that barely supported my weight. Images of death and destruction chased me. I paused on my way out the door. I stared down at Voldemort's body. He seemed small, feeble even. His mouth was open in a grimace and one hand was twisted in a claw. My heart raced and I couldn't help but be afraid that he'd stand up even now.

I spat on him.

I followed Dad in a sort of dazed stupor. I had not understood. When Mum had told me what they were forced to do in order to successfully use the Tears of Merlin... I had not understood how people could be that desperate. The thought of it made me ill. But the smell of burning bodies was fresh in my nostrils; screams still echoed in my head. It seemed so surreal, like it was out of a particularly gruesome story... like the Beedle the Bard tale, 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart'.

But the reality of it made me vomit. I knelt on the ground, one arm bracing myself, and emptied my stomach.

I stood up and kept walking. _How much worse must this be for Dad? _He did not know that he'd have another chance. He didn't know that he could erase this awful image and replace it with something not altogether perfect, but better. He didn't know that Mum and Uncle Ron were still alive. He didn't know that he would soon create a new world, a new reality, and a happier ending. I broke out into a run. Hagrid's hut flashed by in a blur.

I heard a loud cry like that from a wild animal. I sprinted forward.

Dad didn't make it very far into the Forbidden Forest. I found him kneeling on the ground, clutching his hair in his hands. The silence was broken by his harsh breaths. It struck me then that he seemed small. He wasn't anything less than a hero. But his shoulders heaved, and he curled into himself -- I hoped he wasn't hurt too badly by that one curse that Voldemort had managed to hit him with -- and every line of his body screamed despair and vulnerability.

I took the Disillusionment Charm off myself. He didn't notice.

I scuffled my feet and cleared my throat. He didn't react. "It's going to be all right," I said as firmly as I could. It would be. Mostly. And because I thought he might lash out before I could explain, I whispered, "_Incarcerous."_

"Coward," he said harshly. "Can't even kill me without making sure I can't fight back first?"

It hurt to hear him so casual about his own death. Something twisted in my insides. "I'm not going to kill you."

He opened his eyes. His mouth gaped open as he took in how alike we looked. His eyes travelled from my head to my toes. "What the hell?" he said blankly. His eyes narrowed and widened again and fixated on my face. He stared, transfixed, at my forehead, upon which there was no scar. No glasses, either. But in every other way, I looked just like Dad, and he knew it.

"Listen," I said. I wanted to get this over with. I resisted the urge to flee. The small bottle of Forget-For-Now Potion was heavy in my pocket. "I've got to do this. I'm really sorry"--and I really was--"but Dumbledore--"

"Merlin. Are we still listening to Dumbledore?" Dad asked incredulously. "If he'd _told _me that I was a Horcrux, everyone would still be alive. I would've died years ago!"

His willingness to die -- and he was completely sincere, I saw it in his face -- made me deeply uncomfortable. But then what he'd said hit me. 'We'. "I'm not you," I said.

"That's really excellent," he said. His face twisted up in a scowl that looked like a grimace of pain. "I don't know how I would've survived having a second..."

But he stopped himself abruptly. He looked at my scarless forehead again. "You aren't me from the future?"

"No," I said. I kept my eyes on him. "But I am from the future." Sort of. "Not this future, though." My head was starting to pound, though whether that was trying to figure out time travel or because of the force of projectile vomiting, I didn't know. "I didn't quite understand..." Aunt Hermione, dead. Weasley relatives, dead. And I hadn't been able to even try to stop it. I took a deep breath. "Never mind. I'm your son. I'm Albus Potter."

He immediately tested the strength of the spell I'd used to bind him. "You're insane," he said flatly. "We're insane." I took this to mean that he was still under the impression that he was talking to a future version of himself. "Or -- are you under Polyjuice Potion?"

I tried to smile at him. "I'm telling the truth. You eventually go back in time with Mum and Uncle Ron to save everyone from this fate."

He stopped to ponder this. "I fail again?" he asked in a horrified voice. "I go back in time to change things, and I screw up again?"

"No," I said. I knew what he was thinking. Why would I be here if he screwed up? I didn't want to tell him that the only reason why I was here was because I'd screwed up. My presence in the past had caused destruction and death, and I was trying to fix it. And even though I knew he'd never hear the words that would unlock this memory for him, I didn't want to see his disapproval.

But Dad was a good judge of character. "Did you screw everything up?" he asked. I didn't reply. I just stared at him. He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that made me feel about two feet high. "I must've been a really great father."

I flared up at once. He'd been the best father in the world. "You--"

"I'll have to remind myself that if I ever have kids, I'll have to tell them to just say no to time travel," he said.

"You don't--"

But he interrupted me again. He wasn't even looking at me. His entire body trembled. He obviously thought that I was a complete lunatic. "But you're not real. You're just a figment of my imagination." He thought we were both lunatics.

"Stop," I said. "If you'll just let me--"

"It just seems fitting, doesn't it." It wasn't a question. "I finally defeat Voldemort and go insane--"

It was my turn to interrupt. I wanted to get through to him, but it wasn't working. His pain was too big. "Silencio," I muttered under my breath. "Mum -- Ginny Potter -- and Uncle Ron are still alive," I said loudly. "You're going to go back in time and save everyone and eventually have me."

_And you'll die too young_, I added silently. "And I'm going to help things a bit for you," I continued. "And don't worry. I'm a professional." My little white lie could only reassure him as I let the potion bind to him. I could admit to myself that I was about the furthest thing from a professional as someone could get, unless one counted morons at the Ministry for Magic. I supposed they must think of themselves as professionals. "I don't really like doing this," I announced. He wasn't paying attention to me. "And you aren't going to like it. But I can see the reasons, and Dumbledore said I should do it."

He opened his mouth, probably to try to stop me. I whipped out the flask and upended it into his mouth. "I'll stay with you until the potion takes affect," I reassured him while he sputtered. I imagined it didn't taste very well. "It shouldn't take too long. And I'm going to have to Confund you," I added. He looked angry and a little afraid. "Don't look at me like that, Dad," I pleaded. I remembered what Albus had said. After seeing what I had, I believed it. "I'm sure you'd agree that this had to be done."

He refused to say anything, so I sat quietly beside him while the potion took effect. Reluctantly, once his eyes began to look unfocused, I made myself invisible again. He started to forget about me and stopped glaring at where I sat. Twilight deepened.

Dad heard Mum and Uncle Ron before I did. He stood abruptly and the ropes melted away. I winced, prepared to Obliviate him, damning myself for forgetting about the incarceration spell, but he didn't appear to notice anything out of the ordinary. They both appeared at the same time. Mum and Uncle Ron supported each other and helped each other hobble toward Dad, who stared at them, all color drained from his face.

Tears streamed unchecked down Mum's face as she staggered toward Dad and threw her arms around him.

Feeling like an intruder, I left. I did not want to watch them mourn their victory.

I could hardly wait to get back to my own time... I desperately needed firewhiskey. Several bottles worth.

--

--

**Author's Note:**

_Wow, that was a real bitch to write!_


	17. The Third

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty one years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of seventeen during the Battle for the Diagon Alley. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his wife, Ginevra Potter, and their three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Percy Weasley, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, and the Curse Breaker, William Weasley. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for his old mentor, Albus Dumbldore, dead these many years, minutes before he passed._

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, the Molly Weasley Foundation for the Protection of War Orphans, or the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship._


	18. Scream

I had to admit that it was a lot easier to talk to them when they were both in portraits, though I was careful not to mention this due to Severus' recent untimely death. I can have tact when I want to; I don't have verbal diarrhea like James, who inspired Uncle Percy's Censor Sandies. Lily used to force feed them to him before she brought her boyfriends around. Despite not having the sweet, I managed not to mention Severus' death at all.

Neither did he.

"Are you absolutely certain of this?" Albus asked.

"Yes," I said more firmly than I intended to. This was the third time he'd asked. Can a portrait go senile? "Believe me," I continued. "If there's anything I know, it's that the smallest changes you make can explode in your face."

"That's true," Albus looked thoughtful. "I suppose..."

"It is true," I insisted. "And you've got to tell them that. The closer they stay to the original, the better off they'll be. It'll be less suspicious, too; the whole reason why I'm here is because I've got to make sure that Voldemort doesn't find out about the time travel. But if they go after Pettigrew the first day they come back... if they appear to know too much... we think that he put the pieces together. I can't change what I did in the past, but I can try to hide everything else."

"I dislike the idea of leaving an innocent man in Azkaban longer than he needs to be," the portrait said. Severus' portrait said nothing, for which I was glad. The enmity between Severus and Sirius was great, and sometimes I just didn't want to hear it.

"I don't like it either," I said. And I wasn't lying. I'd never seen a dementor, but I'd heard the stories and I knew they were awful. The idea of Sirius, who had been like an uncle to me, being locked up in there with them for longer than he had to made me feel slightly ill. And the fact that the strange mist I'd encountered when I'd first arrived had been caused by them only strengthened the repulsion. But what was done was done, and sometimes sacrifice was necessary. Albus himself had taught me that when he'd told me to take away Dad's memories. "But the more they change right at the beginning, the more things will unravel. Their greatest asset was -- _will be_ -- the fact that they can essentially predict the future."

Albus bowed his head. I grew more frustrated by the minute. I had precious little time before night fell and I returned to my own time. He had to be convinced. "You've got to tell them."

"And what if they don't listen?" he murmured.

"I think they will," I replied. "Dad didn't like the choices you made and the way you manipulated him. But he named me for you, and he respected you very much. If you offer to help him instead of insist that he not do it, I'm certain that he'll want your advice. Dead certain."

"And I'm to tell him to keep as strictly as he can to the events in this time," the portrait said. His hands were steepled together.

"And not to tell anyone right away," I said.

"Why?" Severus' portrait asked, startling me.

"Voldemort wasn't -- _won't be_ -- blind," I said. "He has spies already in place, and they'll tell him everything they want to know about who Dad's friends are," I thought about what I had learned last time. The members of the Order of the Phoenix had been hunted down, trapped in a building, and burned alive by Fiendfyre after being tortured for information. It had been horrific to hear it, but it had been a distant sort of horror. But the acrid stench of the destructive, magical flames still clung to my nostrils, and I could still hear the screams of the children he had burned in their beds. "Weren't you two the ones who taught Dad Occlumency? From what they told me, any one of the people who died that night could have told. Or he could have simply plucked it out of their heads."

"And not everyone can learn Occlumency," Severus said slowly.

"I want to prevent it from happening," I said honestly. I traced the embossed title of _Memories Unbound_ with a finger. "I'd rather he didn't find out who Dad's friends are at all. But if he must, then we need to protect the secret." Albus and Severus of all people ought to know that secrets are best kept under wraps. "If Dad could be convinced not to tell anyone but you two that they traveled back in time until it's all over, I'd make sure that happened. But he'd never go for it."

"No, I don't imagine he would," Albus said thoughtfully. "Harry does not like secrets as a whole."

I grimaced. It had taken months to find a way of stopping them from spilling their guts as soon as they arrived. "Thankfully, he likes the idea of protecting his friends more," I said. "Not to mention giving them a choice. He spent his whole life with a prophecy hanging over him. Tell him he can't play God with people's lives. Tell him that they deserve to choose. We're hoping that if the relationships grow more organically, that Voldemort won't come sniffing around for information. I'm trying to erase pieces of the puzzle." _Exactly what you told me to do_. The clock chimed. I had exactly forty three minutes to convince them.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Albus beat me to it.

"All right," he said. He sounded disheartened.

"Cheer up," I said. "Maybe this time it won't take years for Dad to trust you again. And you might not have to die to earn his trust back."

I pulled out my wand. I tapped the book gently and watched as the crisp, new pages faded and aged before my eyes. "I've chosen to use the author name 'The Wise Asp,'" I said quietly. I'd thought a lot about Emily Wilder during this trip. I'd seen first hand the terrible effects grief can have on people, and I wasn't too thick to realize that both times Dad had died in my memory, I'd been distraught and reeling from it. I couldn't help but hope that I didn't have a memory of breaking her heart the way I thought she'd once broken mine.

"Not Merlin?" Albus asked, surprised.

I chuckled a little. After Severus had filled me up with two more bottles of Veritaserum that first night and they had finally believed me, I had explained everything to them. And after I had done so, Albus had likened me to Merlin and how he too had made multiple jumps in time. He knew that I'd used the phrase 'I'm Merlin' to unlock Dad's memories... though I knew that it was impossible that he would ever hear those words from my lips before he died.

Guilt and regret drove me to use the name Emmy had given me. "A... friend called me that," I said carefully.

"It reminds me very much of the Wise Ape, a particularly gifted wizard who ruled an island nation near Greece," Albus said thoughtfully. "It was reported that he was quite ugly."

"She chose it because it sounded like wise arse," I said. It hurt to talk about her. "And because of my initials. ASP."

The clock ticked on. A strange, parting silence filled the air, and I had to ask. "You'll do it?"

"I will," he said. "I don't like it."

I watched him silently. I imagined that he'd done a lot of things that were hard to do, but were ultimately right. Had Dad not lived with the Dursleys, would he have survived without the blood wards? What of protecting Dad from the knowledge of the prophecy or the Horcrux inside him? Those can't have been easy choices, but I believed they were for the best. What did Dad used to say? About making the choice between what was right and what was easy? Albus had been manipulative, true. But I imagined being told at the age of eleven that I'd gone back into the past, and couldn't help but think that the older wizard's decision to keep Dad in the dark had been the right one.

But that might've just been my Slytherin nature shining through.

"And I'll be very quiet," Severus said darkly. "And I'll not make a sound, pretend like I don't exist, and I won't tell them that their spawn from the future came to muck about with their lives."

"Thanks," I said. I stood up. Twenty five minutes. "Seeing as neither of you have legs, I'll take this down to the Restricted Section." I tapped it once more with my wand, setting a charm. I sealed it with a drop of my blood. "No one will be able to open this," I said. "Unless they've got Potter or Weasley blood." I sort of stood there staring at them for a while. What was I supposed to say at a time like this?

"Until we meet again, namesake," Albus said.

"Good bye," I replied, nodding at Severus, who gave me a stiff nod in return.

I turned on my heel, placing the Disillusionment Charm on myself as I did, and walked through the door to the Room of Requirement that I'd left propped open. The door disappeared behind me and a new arch appeared before me. I walked through it, unsurprised to find myself in the library. Many of the books had been damaged by the fight. The entire room had been damaged by the battle. And feeling a growing urgency, I made my way over the debris to the Restricted Section.

_Memories Unbound _rested beside _Moste Potente Potions_. I stared at it as the world began to fade away. It had been very tempting to just give them the information they'd needed to use the Tears, but Albus had pointed out that they might find that a bit suspicious. So it had taken effort to find and compile the information contained in the book. I'd even made one method up (though that had been more for fun than anything else). _Please let this work_.

I barely noticed the buzzing in my ears growing louder and louder until they became whispers and memories flooded me. My first scar -- healed over for months -- burst apart anew and the second followed. A third set of memories began to bind to my body and I gave myself up to the madness. It swirled around me, taunting me with stories and images, but I had gone through this before and I knew that the torment would eventually end... but it seemed to take so much longer, and my mind was stretched out on a rack, pulled in three different directions and then pushed back in.

But it did end at last. I came to myself slowly. My limbs were heavy and weak, and a strange, familiar smell permeated the air. I blinked blearily and the room spun.

"Don't move," said a harsh voice.

Something dark leaned over me. I squinted, trying to see, and slowly it came into focus. One eye. No nose. Raspy breath. The face was covered in scars that popped and boiled as though they were being cooked, and my mind finally registered what the stench was: _Fiendfyre!_

I screamed long and loud and shrill, like a little girl.


	19. Albus and Severus, Again

19 July 2028 (AL IS BACK TO HIS OWN TIME)

"Stop screaming," the monster said impatiently. "When were you?"

"W-w-what?" I stammered. I looked around desperately for an escape. And nearly fell off the small cot that I was lying in. I was in a very familiar place: the office of the headmaster of Hogwarts. "Where... was I?"

"No," said the monster. I didn't want to look at him, but I couldn't look away. My first impression and reaction had been spot on. I could still smell the stench of burning flesh, though I could tell that the man in front of me was no long in pain. The left side of his face was simply gone. I remembered reading that wounds inflicted by Fiendfyre -- little studied though they were, as most did not survive their encounter with the destructive fire -- appeared to continue to burn, and the smell never went away.

And then he moved his head, and I saw the other side of Severus Snape's face.

"No?"

"_When _were you?" asked a new voice: Albus' portrait hung on the wall as it always had.

"We haven't been able to figure it out," Severus said.

My heart was still pounding and I felt more than a little sick to my stomach. I wasn't afraid anymore, but the pity made bile bubble up in my stomach. A thousand memories of him pounded through my skull. I'd always thought that he'd watched me closely before and during Hogwarts; my body could recall thinking that it was the novelty of having a Potter in Slytherin, but now I knew why he'd been so watchful... he'd almost hovered. Especially after Dad had died...

"You stopped me from hurting Emmy Wilder," I said stupidly. I swung my legs over the cot and held my head in my hands. It pounded rather fiercely. He'd given me a bull shit detention. I hadn't taken her to Hogsmeade; I hadn't humiliated her and said cruel things in front of friends and strangers alike. The room spun. More memories jostled for position. Severus, offering advice. He'd been there for me like another uncle or a second godfather. I'd had so many conversations with him in this office. But I didn't understand. "You... you don't hate me?" I asked in disbelief.

I addressed my question to Severus. I'd spoken to Albus' portrait after my first jump. He'd been cordial, but I got the impression that Albus was the type of bloke to be cordial to Death Eaters. But I had piles and piles of memories of Severus treating me fondly, of all things. And it had been my fault that Voldemort found out about the time travel.

"No," he said. He didn't offer anything else and I didn't ask. I was deeply confused. "Answer the question, Al. How did you change it so that they trusted us right away?"

I blinked. I opened my mouth, but it seemed like my brain was unwilling to cooperate. I gaped at him like a fish, and the two scars on my hand flared with pain until I gasped. I gritted my teeth, not liking them to see me like this, and tried to hold it in. I broke out in a cold sweat, and felt almost chilled.

"Give him a moment, Severus," Albus' portrait said. "He's still in shock."

As if to prove him right, I began to tremble. "Is it winter?" It must be. I'd left in... November, wasn't it? So it ought to be December, nearly Christmas--

"No, it's mid-July," Severus said.

"What?" I said blankly.

"It's the middle of July," he repeated. "Did you know that your pupils are the shape of keyholes? They're going back to normal as I watch..."

"What's the year?"

"2028," Albus's portrait answered. I'd left in November of the same year and returned in July? The first time I'd made a jump, I'd left in the middle of May and returned in the middle of June. And now it was the middle of July... exactly two months after I'd left the first time. I couldn't help but think that was somehow significant.

And I wondered if the next time I got back, it would be the middle of August.

"Voldemort... he found out about the time travel?" I asked. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. It wasn't that I hadn't expected this. Albus' portrait and I had discussed it endlessly before I made my second jump. I'd had a feeling that I wouldn't be so lucky that the small changes I'd made would allow me to leave the past alone. But there were things to do and I still had to fix it. Albus had drilled that much into me.

"He did," Severus said. "And we still don't know how."

"I think that while our namesake is acclimating, we ought to clarify a few things," Albus' portrait said. I could only think that this was a good idea. I needed clarification badly. "After they used the Tears of Merlin, and before Al came to visit us in the past..."

Albus seemed to know exactly what I needed to ground myself. I listened carefully to him as he had once done to me. He told my parents' story. They had used the Tears of Merlin. On the very day that they had come back, they had taken steps to expose Peter Pettigrew to the world. Sirius Black had been freed.

"And I really didn't suspect a thing?" he asked suddenly. "I had no idea that they weren't what they seemed?"

"Well, I can't speak for you," I said. "But yeah. From what I've heard, they were gathering up Horcruxes and making their plan right under your nose."

He continued. I stared down at the floor while I continued to listen. Before I'd meddled, things had been so much simpler. And easier for Dad, Mum, and the others. There had been a long stretch in between Harry's first year and his fourth. The Order of the Phoenix had slowly been pulled in without Dumbledore's knowledge. Sirius Black had joined. Remus Lupin had too. The Weasleys were told in the Christmas of Dad's first year that their two youngest children were far older than they appeared. Wormtail had escaped; Voldemort had used Dad's blood to rise again. Dad had escaped, and had used Voldemort's obsession to get at the prophecy to lure him to the Ministry. He'd defeated him there.

"Yeah," I said once Dumbledore had finished.

"And I take it that you did go back in time twice?"

"Yeah," I said.

"But when?" Severus burst out. "They came to tell us immediately. It was the very next day that they threw dungbombs at me to get themselves to Dumbledore without raising suspicion. Were you there that month? Did you actually talk to them?"

"No," I said, startled. "I went back to right after the very first timeline. Before they used the Tears of Merlin," I continued. I wanted to add: _isn't that obvious? _but managed to refrain. Severus made a sound like a growl.

"That isn't possible," he said. "That reality doesn't exist anymore. That should be a paradox."

I relished the fact that I now had the chance to instruct him. True, I had a bunch of memories of him being kind and almost like a mentor, but that hadn't made me forget that Snape could be a sarcastic arse. A sarcastic, condescending arse. "Well, Severus," I said slowly, as though speaking to a small child. "It's actually quite simple--"

"--and there's the Al I first met in 1981," he muttered under his breath.

"I got the memory from Uncle Ron," I said, pretending to ignore him, but secretly relishing this. "And to him, that reality is as much a part of his past as last month is. So if I can travel to last month, then I can travel to any other genuine memory. It's really that simple. And while I was there, I convinced Albus to fully support their decision to change time. I think that's what made the difference."

"What else did you do?"

"I hope you didn't get drunk again," Severus said darkly. "My life changed forever the night Aberforth found you drunk on the floor of the bathroom. I'd hate to think it happened again."

I opened my mouth, perplexed. Aberforth hadn't _found _me on the floor of the bathroom. He'd been the one to stun me and take me to them in the first place. Hadn't he? But before I could voice this confusion, Albus interjected. "If I recall correctly, I died in the Battle for the Ministry?"

"You did," I said. "But in this one..."

"I died when he attacked your father's friends," Albus said. "In his fourth year."

"That happened before I went back the second time," I said, feeling vastly uncomfortable. "Except Severus didn't survive it."

"Dumbledore spent the last of his energy getting me out of there alive," Severus said. "Just so that I could be here. For this exact moment. We knew you'd gone back for a second time, you see."

I did. "That's good," I said. "You can help me plan out my third journey."

"Exactly," said Severus.

**Author's Note:**

_In order to prevent the explosion of heads, I've put in this handy flow chart that my friend Mel typed up. Thanks to Mel, who is far more organized than I am._

**Original timeline: **_Everyone dies except H/R/G.__DD dies as in canon, by Snape, at the end of HBP_

**Tears of Merlin: **_H/R/G go to see DD's portrait, although we don't learn until later, he at first tries to dissuade them from going back__He has no independent knowledge of what will happen.__They send their memories back.__We don't see this journey in BWP but hear about bits and pieces later.__In this journey, H/R/G don't tell DD everything right away.__They also free Sirius immediately. Because of their travel, the prophecy is changed to include "Bent for always and always" The final battle with VD happens in the DoM when Harry is 15.__DD dies.__The twins die.__ Snape dies.__The rest of the lives progress, Harry and Ginny get married (again, technically), and have James, Albus and Lily.__Harry dies at 39 from an illness._

**Merlin 1: **_Al, at age 22, goes back to Halloween 1981.__He cannot change the prophecy.__His presence alerts the world to the fact of it, and also adds the word "terrible" to it.__His presence, plus the fact that his parents freed Sirius right away, plus other unknown facts, alert Voldemort to __the time travel (or so they think).__DD is tortured for info about the time travel. __The final battle is pushed back by two years.__Molly, Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Remus, Charlie all die during Harry's fourth year, right after Voldemort returned. Harry and Ginny marry, etc., have James, Lily and Al, etc.__Harry dies at 41.__At age 22, Al begins acquiring memories of what he did.__He goes to see DD's portrait to plan his next trip back._

**Merlin 2: **_Al continues meeting with DD, but is eventually found out by his mother.__He takes a memory from his drunk uncle Ron.__The memory is of a time about four days before the final battle in the OT.__The purpose of this trip is to make his father think that the Hallows kept him alive, and to have Dumbledore be supportive and ask to be told immediately about the time travel.__This is necessary so that he can truly sacrifice himself again when the time comes.__The final battle happens much the same way as is Merlin 2.__VD still knows about the time travel. Snape survives the strike against the Order, though he is badly burned. I would suggest rereading the prologue to Backward With Purpose, with the knowledge that Dumbledore had already met Al as Merlin._


	20. Hello, Goodbye

21 July 2028

I was glad of their help. I really was. But every time I saw Severus' misshapen face, I was pierced by guilt. He was a living reminder of the fact that the choices I had made had long-lasting consequences. I was glad he'd survived, but the fact that Dumbledore had saved him from the flames specifically so that I could have certain bits of pertinent information... it was a burden.

"He already knew?" I repeated. "When Voldemort tortured the members of the Order of the Phoenix, he already knew about the time travel?"

"Not only did he know about it, but he knew which form of time travel was used," Albus confirmed. "When he... questioned us, he already knew."

I paced restlessly. "The other portrait... before I made my second jump... he seemed to think that it was a culmination of things." My mind raced. "The way he gathered his friends so closely. Pettigrew saw me in 1981; I beat the secret out of him. But I took away his memories. Could he have broken through?"

"He may have," Severus confirmed. "After he and Rookwood escaped from Azkaban together, and Pettigrew brought Voldemort your father, he simply disappeared. I never could find what happened to him. I suspected that Rookwood killed him, actually; he was a nasty piece of work."

"Aren't all Death Eaters?" I asked. I flashed him a small smile. "Except for reformed ones, of course," I added. It interested me that this Rookwood -- a Death Eater that I had not heard much about -- had escaped with Pettigrew. He had not, to the best of my knowledge, done so before I had gone back in time. But then again, I hadn't paid close attention to the intricacies of my father's story. It may very well have been that Rookwood had, indeed, escaped and I just hadn't cared enough to remember.

But a thought suddenly struck me. "Why didn't you ever teach Dad Obfuscomency?" I asked.

There was a very, very long pause. "We just didn't think about it," Severus admitted. It appeared to pain him to do so. "How could we not have thought about it? Using memories to mask the truth... it's practically made for him."

I beamed. It was always a good feeling to have done something right.

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I'm not sure what exactly led me from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley. Perhaps it was because he was my godfather. It might have been because I knew that his adult life had been shaped by grief, and I had a lot in common with him. And I think a large part of it was the fact that his voice saying the words "save my brothers" echoed in my head. But my feet carried me through the Leaky Cauldron, and all the way to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes before I really even knew where I was going.

I'd never really sought out a conversation with Uncle Percy. He was my godfather, but Uncle Ron had stepped into that role during my childhood. He was more approachable. More fun. It was weird to think that I had more in common with my more stand-offish uncle. I'd never even thought that might be the case. But neither one of us got over people dying on us. So intent was I on my own thoughts that it barely registered that two people were shouting at each other.

Well, one person was doing the shouting.

"HE WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED THIS!" Uncle George bellowed. He paced around like a large, angry cat. "It was _our _dream. Never yours. You've stolen it--"

"I didn't steal it," Uncle Percy said mildly. "I merely picked it up after you dropped it."

Uncle George managed to turn even redder; so red, in fact, that it was slowly edging toward purple. I wanted to turn and run away, but I couldn't seem to move. Memories clamored in my head. Last time, when it had been Uncle George that had died and Uncle Fred that had lived, Uncle Fred and Uncle Percy had rarely spoken to each other. There'd been that undercurrent of tension, always, at family dinners and holidays. But now I had a new set of lifelong memories of these two sniping at each other every chance they got.

"If you think that I've forgotten--"

"I don't think you've forgotten anything, George. I think you're trying so hard to, though, that you can't stand it when his name is even mentioned. Fred. Fred. _Fred_."

"Don't--"

"What, you don't like it when your penetrating analysis is turned back on you?" Uncle Percy's voice was low and calm, but I knew that he was just as angry as Uncle George. He practically vibrated with tension; I could see it through the window. "I'm trying to keep his memory alive. You're trying to pretend he never existed at all."

Uncle George reeled back in shock, as though he had been slapped. "Fred wouldn't want you to do this," he snarled. "I knew him. I was his twin; you were just another brother. He'd want us to carry on and laugh--"

"And you've done so much laughing?" Uncle Percy taunted. "Have you really carried on at all? At least I've managed to make other people laugh. That used to mean something to you."

I rested my head against the window as they continued to wound each other. I felt better about making another jump to the past. I'd plant another copy of _Memories Unbound_, this time with added instructions for Obfuscomency. Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron had looked for the book right away, Dumbledore had said. They would again and they'd find it; Aunt Hermione would read it, and she'd help. I knew it. And hopefully another piece of the puzzle would be erased. But I had a second agenda.

_Save my brothers_.

What if I could?

"Why are you holding onto him so tightly?" Uncle George's fierce voice interrupted my thoughts. "Is it because Ron and Ginny and Harry told you that you turned your back on your family before they used the Tears?"

Uncle Percy was silent for so long that I was afraid that he'd been cursed. "I think it's time for you to leave," he said stiffly. "I'm going through with the Memorial Munchies, George. And yes, Fred's will still be the first, along with Mum's and Charlie's and Harry's. There's an entire generation that's forgotten the price we paid for the freedom we have."

It wasn't so much forgotten, though, as it was that we were just too distant from it. I was in a unique position to fully realize the impact that the losses had on my generation. I can remember having a grandmother and her soft hugs and excellent cooking. I can remember robust Uncle Charlie who used to toss us up in the air and promise that he'd take us to meet the dragons. And Uncle Fred was a laugh a minute. But here and now, they no longer existed. Their lives were snuffed out -- two of them because of me -- and I knew that it was a rather high price.

"I'm not going to help," Uncle George said. He sounded quite young and sullen. "I don't care what you or the rest of the family says." And without waiting for a reply, he stomped out of the door. He didn't even notice me, since I clung to the shadows. I'd become quite accomplished at skulking during my time in Slytherin.

I pressed up against the wall. I'd forgotten that Uncle Percy had, once upon a different time, sided with the Ministry against his own family. He hadn't returned to the fold until the last moment -- I'd witnessed it; that and him dying for his mother -- and they'd never had a chance to fully reconcile. Uncle Percy's devotion to his family was so fierce that it seemed ludicrous that he'd forsake those he loved for his own ambition. It boggled my mind that he could have been so different.

"I take it you heard everything?" Uncle Percy's voice startled me so badly that I nearly fell over. Apparently, Gryffindor had taught stealth as well.

"Er, yeah," I admitted, once I'd recovered. "I just can't imagine you... you know, not being loyal."

"It's interesting," he said in a distant voice. "I can't imagine it either. But it makes me wonder how it's the small things that have such an impact. Your Uncle Ron told me once that I wasn't loyal to the family because the family wasn't really loyal to me." He sounded embarrassed. "And when they came back in time, they changed that. Deliberately."

"Time is very fragile," I said. He looked at me oddly. "You know... I work for the Department of Mysteries."

"How was your mission?" he asked politely. Once again, I had to admire Severus' forethought. Alerting the family that I'd be gone had been a very good decision.

"It was all right," I said hesitantly. "I've still got some work to do." I suddenly felt the urge to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him that I was going to try to save his family, and maybe he wouldn't need to make Memorial Munchies. I didn't have a plan, not yet, but I was going to try, and my mind was working very quickly. I only really needed to buy time. If they just waited another year before knowing everything and forming the Order of the Phoenix... that awful night would not happen.

"There's always work to do," he said absently.

"What are Memorial Munchies?" I asked.

"Here, come on in and I'll show you," he said. I followed him in and through the store. Products piled dangerously high, and fireworks randomly went off. It was pretty much a paradise for young witches and wizards. And for James. He led me around the corner and into the workroom. By contrast, Uncle Percy's private domain was very neat, sterile even. There was a long, flat table; two of the walls had built-in cupboards. A neatly made cot sat in the corner, and I remembered that Uncle Percy slept here. He had not bothered to find another place to live after he and Aunt Audrey had divorced.

"I envy you, you know, Al," Uncle Percy said. "Ever since your dad and mum told me about the time travel, it hooked me. I used to want to work for the Department of Mysteries..."

"You know," I said. "No one ever told me how you lot found out about it." Why had Dad told them so soon? I'd told Dumbledore to try to get them to wait until Voldemort came back. I watched as, for some inexplicable reason, Uncle Percy's ears turned bright, bright red. It was a Weasley trait.

"Your father and mother were found in a -- er -- compromising position when we _thought _they were still quite young," he said. I suddenly did not want to hear anymore. I did not want to hear about my parents' sex life. "Harry was lucky that Mum and Dad liked him so much. If they hadn't, I'm sure Dad would've kicked him out," there was a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "But instead they gave him a chance to explain, and then Dumbledore came and brought his pensieve... that was a very strange Christmas. One of my favorites, actually. It was the last one where we were all together."

I knew this.

"It wasn't so much that they died," he said. He wasn't even looking at me, and I sort of wondered if he even realized that I was still in the room. "It was how they died. Mum and Charlie... trapped like rats and tortured. You've seen Snape. And Fred... taking a curse for me. I was his older brother. It should've been me."

Maybe it was because this was the second time hearing these words, or maybe it was because I had learned a little during my jumps to the past, but it hit me like a blow to the stomach. Grandma. Uncle Charlie. Uncle Fred. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Kingsley Shacklebolt. All of them trying to protect the secret of the time travel... but Voldemort had already known. And Snape, protecting my secret as well, living with the pain of wounds that never stopped burning.

"That's awful," I said, my voice was very tight.

"Ah well," he said. "I made these Memorial Munchies because I didn't want to keep remembering the bad. And because I see so many children in the store that haven't a clue that heroes bleed too. And they had families they left behind, and that they were mostly ordinary people who found themselves doing extraordinary things," He indicated a plate of fudge squares. "Every time you take a bite, you'll see a memory, a happy one, of someone who died in the war. I've also done your dad, because... just because. And then on the last bite, you'll see an image of the Memorial Wall. And the person's name on it."

"That's... remarkable, Uncle Percy," I said, deeply impressed. "That must've taken ages."

He shrugged. "I've been thinking about it for years and years. It's been hard to get the memories, though. That's the only thing. They're easy to make; it's just fudge with memories injected into it," he opened the door to a cupboard, and my mouth fell open. It was filled with rows and rows of little bottles filled with swirling, silver memories. I felt like an addict. I bent down and looked closer. He'd marked them by year! And by person! I was practically salivating.

Quick as a flash, I reached out and grabbed a flask from the year 1988. It was clearly labeled "Arthur Weasley" and it felt right to use his memory, instead of Snape's, to go to the past. I pocketed it.

"Uh, listen," I said. I edged toward the door. "I've got to go... told Mum I'd be back for dinner..."

"All right, Al," he said. "It was good seeing you."

I whirled around and practically raced to the door. I paused as I reached for the handle. "What did you say?" I asked.

"I didn't say anything, Al," he said.

Except that I'd heard him mumble something that sounded a lot like "good luck." I stared at him for a long moment. I couldn't read the expression on his face. It was completely inscrutable. _Save my brothers_, he'd said the first time. I knew it was impossible that he knew; Albus and Severus had kept it from everyone else. They wouldn't have told Uncle Percy. But I nodded at him just the same; whether he understood the message or not, I didn't know. I was going to try to save them.

"I'll see you later," I said. And I stepped out into the deepening night.

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**The Laws of Time Travel: **(These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(The universe is not kidding about this one.)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)(Yep, still don't like Fate so much)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)(I'm still waiting to find out what these are; I've got a bad feeling)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

_Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are. _

_Don't tell your dad that you are his child from the future. He will just think you're a lunatic. _

_Try to avoid the subject of someone's imminent death. They get really cranky when they know exactly how and when they're going to die. _


	21. Choice

2 July 1988

I don't know when I decided to erase the memory of them meeting me, but as I coalesced into shape in 1988, I knew that I was going to do it. I came once more to the Burrow. It reached crookedly toward the sky, and I could hear the shouts of happy children. My mum and uncles, no doubt. It was the summer holidays; Uncle Bill and Uncle Charlie might even be home. Though... they might have graduated school already. I wasn't sure.

I paused, only halfway back to a physical body. I stared hard at the bushes; they rustled, but no one was there. _Just gnomes_, I told myself firmly. I continued to walk down the lane, unable to shake the feeling that I was being followed. _You're being paranoid, you moron_. It was odd how I was far more nervous in 1988 than I had been in 1981. It was relatively safer now; Voldemort was gone and most of his followers were in Azkaban.

A month seemed like a long time to be in the past while I only really came back to do two things, neither of which should take more than a day. It was a bit of a hassle to know that I had thirty days to kill -- from new moon to new moon -- and hadn't much to do with it. _Maybe I'll go torment the Dursleys_, I thought.

Once I had fully formed, I spun on my heel and Disapparated to Godric's Hollow. I'd be damned before I let Albus and Severus lock me up again. And I only knew of one place that was relatively safe. And empty.

Granddad and Grandma Potter's cottage looked remarkably the same. The little yard had been cared for, and I wondered if the Ministry had laid an enchantment on it out of gratitude, or if a friend (Remus Lupin, perhaps) maintained it on their own. Glancing around quickly, I pulled out my wand and muttered the diagnostic spell that would tell me the answer.

A uniform Ministry spell. I was fairly confident that I wouldn't have visitors. Still, I cast protective charms that would turn away even though most curious guest. I frowned. I would have felt safer had I been able to stay in the Room of Requirement. But considering the fact that I needed to Obliviate the headmaster and his spy, I thought that might not be the best idea.

The cottage was fit for human inhabitants, though I was exceedingly grateful that it was July and not December or January. A part of the roof had been blown up, after all, and while the breeze blowing through felt pleasant in the summer, I imagined that it would be pretty damn cold in the winter.

I had a quick tour of the house. While I was upstairs, I dragged the bedclothes off of my grandparents' bed; I didn't want to actually sleep in it. I'd kip on the sofa. But I did need a blanket of some sort. I kept my head turned away from the door that led to Dad's old room. When I passed, I reached out blindly and pulled the door shut. I didn't want to be reminded of my failure. Just being back in the past again burned in my gut.

_Failure_.

I gave my head a good hard shake. "Focus, Al, focus," I said out loud. "You don't have time to be stupid." Unfortunately, I couldn't trick myself that easily. I already knew that I had about a month to brood about my own stupidity. _It's going to be a long one_, I thought glumly.

My stomach rumbled. _I'll go steal some food before I get started on _Memories Unbound, I thought. I pushed myself up off the sofa and left.

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08 July 1988

My fingers trembled violently, and my legs were shaky as I stepped out of Ariana's portrait and back into the Hog's Head Inn. The entire morning had been pretty wild. I had to admit to a little procrastination. I'd finished the book about four hours after I'd arrived in 1988, and I'd spent the next few days trying to muster up the courage to seek out Albus and Severus once more.

They'd been suitably shocked.

I'd used the door from the Room of Requirement to enter the office once more. Albus had been alone, and I'd lifted the Disillusionment Charm. His eyes had gone round with shock. "I'm back," I'd said.

And now, several hours later, I had erased his memories of ever meeting me. And Severus'. I thought about how the Potions Master looked now. He was sallow-skinned and greasy-haired and his face was harder and colder even than it had been in 1981. But it was unmarred by Fiendfyre.

_Please stay that way_.

"You again?" someone said gruffly. I whirled around. I'd thought that Aberforth was gone today. "You're lucky I recognized you."

"Er," I said.

"It's been a long time since I found you on the floor of my bathroom," said Aberforth. "Passed out drunk."

"Don't you mean since you stunned me?" I asked. "You stunned me and took me to your brother."

He gaped at me. "Didn't," he said.

I just stared at him. I hadn't even made it to the bathroom before I'd been hit in the back with a spell. I remembered it clearly. And since I'd woken up in Dumbledore's office, I'd sort of just assumed that Aberforth had wanted to stop me from doing any more damage than I had already done.

"I'm not serving you," he said. "I'm not as thick as people think. I've an idea who you are, and you aren't going to wag your lips in my bar again."

When I had jumped to the original timeline, before my parents had even used the Tears of Merlin, I had taken vindictive pleasure in stunning him. And even though he could not possibly know that had happened, I couldn't quite blame him for kicking me out of his bar. Not that I could've gotten drunk anyway. I was trying to follow my own guidelines.

I huffed out a sigh.

"Don't know what you were thinking," he continued. "Opening your mouth like that in a bar full of Death Eaters--"

"Death Eaters?" I asked suddenly. "There were Death Eaters in that bar?"

"Just one that I know of," Aberforth said. "Augustus Rookwood. But there could've been more."

_Rookwood_. His name had been cropping up a lot lately. Had he stunned me? I felt a wave of disorientation that may or may not have been due to a memory charm being challenged. I stared at Aberforth. He stared right back at me. "Obliviate," I said, almost distractedly. The older wizard's eyes unfocused and his mouth went slack.

As I left the Hog's Head, I knew that I should have felt a small measure of pride that I had managed to convince Albus and Severus to swear the Unbreakable Vow to not tell anyone about the prophecy, and that I'd managed to take their memories away. But my mind raced. What if... what if there weren't a bunch of little puzzle pieces that Voldemort had placed together after all? What if there was one gigantic piece that we'd been missing all this time?

There was only one way to know for sure. And Augustus Rookwood was in Azkaban.

_Shit._

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17 July 1988

I didn't do anything rash. I didn't immediately run off and break into Azkaban to find Rookwood and force him to tell me what he knew. I tried not to think about it, because once I got started, I'd find myself plotting ways to get in and out of the fortress without getting caught and having my soul sucked out by dementors. The prospect didn't sound very pleasant.

I wafted through the days. I alternated between hiding at the Burrow and watching my uncles and my mother playing. I think I might have even been there the first time my mum snuck into the broom shed and stole Uncle Charlie's broom. At first I was quite careful to Disillusion myself, but I eventually stopped, despite the fact that I sometimes felt like I was being watched.

I also spent time tormenting the Dursleys in some small ways. One morning, I flattened the tires in Vernon Dursley's new car. After watching him struggle to change the tire, I made large cracking noises with my wand, just to embarrass him in front of his neighbors. Another time I tracked muddy dog prints up and down their front walk. Petunia Dursley's squawk of indignation and rage was quite fun, but Dad was forced to clean it up. As the days passed, I spent more and more time at the Burrow rather than at 4 Privet Drive.

"Hello?" said a small voice.

I spun around, ready with excuses as to why I was sitting and watching children playing. I couldn't immediately see anyone.

"Are you Merlin?"

I looked down. A young girl with hair so blond that it was almost white sat cross-legged inches away from my feet. It was apparent that she'd been there for quite some time. She was very young; I doubted she was even seven. But her eyes were wide and alert as they looked at me. They sort of reminded me of Dumbledore's eyes. They were also blue.

And it struck me that they were very familiar blue eyes.

"Aunt Luna?" I said incredulously, before I could stop myself.

"Oh, you are a time traveler!"

It wasn't my miniature godmother that spoke this time, but an older man. I realized that I'd seen him before; his dandelion hair was quite familiar. He was the father that had been quite polite as he'd picnicked with his family in 1981. I gaped at him, trying to decide whether or not to run away.

"I wondered, you see," he prattled on. "You still had a bit of the silvery memories clinging to you -- after all my studies of Merlin, they say that's the first thing to look for. Imagine my delight that I finally saw it! And my wife... she said that your aura had been like nothing she'd seen before"--I began to wonder if this man needed to breathe--"and you must be quite a while from your time. Now. I've had a question for you for years and years."

I was stunned. He'd seen me? I supposed it was possible. And if he knew that the silvery mist that had clung to my body was the memories binding me to the past... "Er, okay," I said cautiously.

"Is You-Know-Who really gone?" he asked. "Because you've got the look of the Potters about you, and young Harry defeated him just a few days after I saw you."

I tried to remember everything I'd ever heard about Luna's dad. He'd owned the Quibbler, a newspaper devoted to the weird. I think I was lulled by the fact that his eyes were so open and honest, and he looked slightly insane. And there was Aunt Luna, who was actually a very cute child, and I knew that I could trust them. And they weren't nearly so entwined in the thick of things as Albus and Severus... Dad wouldn't tell Luna until his fourth year. But I think it was mostly the fact that it had been days since I'd heard a friendly voice.

"Why did you call me Merlin?" I asked Aunt Luna.

"Because Daddy says that you're Merlin," she said proudly. "He tells me about him all the time."

"Well..." I said. I decided to use different names for Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron. "You've got to promise you won't tell anyone."

"Of course we won't, Merlin!" Xeno Lovegood thrust out his chest. "Luna knows how to keep secrets."

Her eyes were very wide. She nodded solemnly. "I won't tell."

"It all begins with King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and Lancelot," I said. She'd always loved the Arthurian legends; my earliest memories of my godmother was of her reading stories to us about the age of chivalry. I thought back, realizing with a start that before I had gone back to 1981, she had done no such thing. Perhaps her father's brief glimpse of me and subsequent interest in the Burrow and the area around it (for I now realized that he had probably been watching for my reappearance for quite some time). And for the first time in what felt like years, I smiled fully.

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29 July 1988

It was with great reluctance that I wrote the article. _Be the butterfly, not the hurricane, _I thought. _Be the butterfly, not the hurricane_. I had to be subtle; I had to meddle. I had to prevent the Order of the Phoenix from forming too soon. I desperately hoped that I would not find another massacre upon my return from the future. And Xeno's words had struck me. It was true. The press had a certain power that went far beyond magic. It galled me to write words that would (hopefully) stall people from choosing to side with Dad, but I was pretty desperate.

So I dredged up some memories of the books that had been written about Dad, and the discussions that I had overheard about the nature of prophecy. I used quotes from books that would not be on the shelf in Flourish and Blotts until years, sometimes even decades, into the future.

**HARRY POTTER, THE PROPHECY, AND HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED**

_In the six years since the fall of You-Know-Who, the Wizarding world, both in Britain and abroad, has viewed young Harry Potter as a savior. It is true that You-Know-Who could not kill him on the Halloween night that resulted in the deaths of James and Lily Potter. The child survived the Killing Curse – a feat that is unheard of – and You-Know-Who disappeared. These are the facts that led to the celebrations throughout Britain, and also why Harry Potter and his scar are famous. The fact that it was revealed that there was indeed a prophecy that foretold this happenstance – in which Harry Potter was named 'the Chosen One' – only made the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named even more a cause for joy after so many years of darkness._

_And yet experts on prophecy are troubled. One Regan Forthill, son of renowned Seer July Forthill, expressed his misgivings on the matter. "Prophecies and oracles and things of that nature have never been predictable, my mother always said. She told me of many times throughout her lifetime when she Saw something, was certain of the meaning, and yet turned out to be completely wrong," he said, speaking to me from his home in Devon. This is fact. It is said that there is a Hall of Prophecy within the Department of Mysteries in our own Ministry of Magic. It is also fact that the great Nezenam Institute in Russia has an extensive library relating to prophecies and prophets, and they have always maintained that no human mind could possibly consider all the ramifications of any prophecy. An even more damning source is that of the centaurs, known to possess the skills of reading the stars that humans lack. A centaur that lives with the herd in the Forbidden Forest discussed with me at length what he had read in the stars. At this moment in time, the Wizarding world lies between two great wars. He claims that this time of peace is a brief respite, and one that will not last another even another decade. The centaur prefers to remain anonymous because of the sensitive nature of these claims, but they are true nonetheless. Due to the unpredictable nature of prophecies, I am certain that it would be a wiser course to be watchful rather than jubilant, careful instead of automatically trusting, and cautious instead of open-armed._

_Less cautious witches and wizards will point to the fact that Harry Potter is, at the moment I am writing this, aged seven years old, and only just experiencing accidental magic. However, in four years, the child will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and there he will learn power, and tools that he may use for good or for ill. The first part of the prophecy has been well-known almost since it was made. And it seemed to come to fruition with the downfall of You-Know-Who. But I am suspicious of this 'terrible' power that Harry Potter is destined to have. What about that baby could stop the most powerful dark wizard in centuries? Have we seen the last of it, or will this second war that the centaur predicted be against Harry Potter, thought to be the savior of the Wizarding world? Given all that is unknown, I think it wise to consider these possibilities._

_Again, I will point out the fact that Harry Potter is only seven years old. But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a child once as well. There are curious likenesses between the two: Harry Potter is also an orphan, and it is safe to assume that he will grow up to be a powerful wizard. Even the very nature of the prophecy made about both of them hints that there is an odd connection between their two destinies. The question must be asked: is Harry Potter responsible for the defeat of You-Know-Who, or is he the next You-Know-Who? Or even worse? The likelihood of him become a great wizard is shared equally with him becoming a threat the likes of which the world has never seen. The fact that the entire Wizarding world believes him to be the epitome of good is even more disturbing. You-Know-Who had to work to gain his followers, but every wizard, witch, and child knows the name of Harry Potter. He is known throughout the world. He will not have any problem at all gaining followers – unless we are careful._

I wrote it quickly and I did not reread it. I was careful to transfigure my face; Xeno Lovegood was relatively harmless, but I did not need anyone else recognizing me and knowing me for what I was. I was pretty sure that Xeno wouldn't tell anyone. And I was likewise certain that even if he did, no one would believe him. I walked through Hogsmeade in a sort of determined daze; I couldn't help but feel that the parchment I carried in my hand had a special importance.

I hoped it worked.

I spent the last hours of my time in 1988 sitting in the living room of Granddad and Grandma Potter's cottage. I stared out the window; everything appeared so... normal. Except that it wasn't. I was far out of my time, and despite the fact that I knew that in a very short time, I'd feel that my head would be torn asunder and packed again with yet another set of memories, I felt an overwhelming relief that I would soon be home.

I didn't bother to clean up the food I had stolen. I had the feeling that I would be back.

When the voices started whispering, signaling my return to future, I met them with a mixture of dread and hope.


	22. The Fourth

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of sixteen during the Battle for the Diagon Alley. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his wife, Ginevra Potter, and their three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, among others. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for his wife's family, the Weasleys, in the moments before he died, despite the almost lifelong estrangement. _

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, or the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship._


	23. Memories Like Knives

19 August 2028

I'd been back in my own body and my own time for three days and I had no desire to leave my small flat, except to get food and supplies. The floor was littered with letters; most were from Mum, and they ranged from desperate to angry. Once I'd come back to myself, I'd sent her a brief note telling her not to worry, that I was alive. I was exceedingly grateful that I worked for the Department of Mysteries; everyone sort of expected my job to be cloaked in secrecy.

All of this registered very dimly. The rest of the time I spent wallowing in memories that made my chest feel very tight.

_I was six years old and visiting Hogsmeade. It was late summer, and Mum said I could go to the candy shop all by myself because I was a big boy. I bobbed down the street, feeling quite grown up, like James. Every few steps I skipped a little and maybe even twirled once or twice (but only when people weren't looking). Everything was so bright and fascinating; it seemed more real when Mum and Dad weren't there to hold my hands. I could dawdle as much as I wanted (though not too much because the galleon Mum had pressed into my hand was burning a hole in my pocket, and I needed candy) and James wouldn't tell me I walked slow because I've got little boy legs._

_I was a big boy. I was walking to the candy store all by myself!_

_I stopped, fascinated, a few shops down from the store. An old wizard wearing big robes that looked hot and scratchy sat on a bench and smoked a pipe. He made the coolest shapes with the smoke and I gaped at it. I immediately wanted a pipe of my own. "Can I try that?" I asked eagerly. _

_He threw his head back and laughed. "Maybe when you're older, but I'm sure that your mother wouldn't appreciate it much," he said._ _I got the feeling that he knew who my parents were; almost everyone did. Dad and Mum were famous. "I will give you this though," he winked at me and pressed a galleon into my hand. "Just because you look so much like your dad."_

_My chest puffed out with pride. I loved it when people said that. One time I'd even drawn a scar on my forehead, like Dad's, with Aunt Hermione's big black pen. But Dad had looked sort of sad, even though he'd laughed and ruffled my hair, so I never did it again. Well, I never did it again that he could see. "Thank you, sir!" I said cheerfully. "I'm going to get some candy!"_

_He wished me on my way, and I marched on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the wild coloring of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Fireworks went off about every second and other kids were running in and out of the store. I'd always wanted to visit there. Not as badly as James did. He begged and begged every time we came to Hogsmeade or went to Diagon Alley, but Mum and Dad always said "no, absolutely not." _

_I'd stopped without even realizing it. Even though I was across the street from the shop, I reached out my hands. I wanted to touch everything, and I could only see what was in the window! Just imagine what must be inside...! I was close, very close, to losing my head completely and running over there just because everything looked so bright and colorful, and Dad and Mum might just not understand how the joke shop could be such a great place for big boys like me._

_It was the red-haired man standing outside of it, holding on to a red-haired boy who looked just my age. At first I thought it was Uncle Ron and Hugo, but Uncle Ron didn't let his kids go to the joke shop, either. They were both staring at me. Not smiling or anything, just staring. The boy pointed at me, asking a question. The man shook his head and replied. I figured they were probably talking about Dad. I felt a little shudder of guilt, and reminded myself that I liked candy as much as I liked fireworks. _

_I was grabbing up a few, sticky Cockroach Clusters to give to James in his sandwich when someone tapped me on the back. I turned to find the red-haired boy grinning at me. He still sort of looked like Hugo, but Hugo had bushy red hair and this boy looked years older. _

_"Hi," he said. _

_"Hi," I said. _

_"I'm Louis," he told me. "I'm your cousin!"_

_"No, you aren't," I said automatically. I held up four fingers. "I only have four cousins. Rose, Hugo, Molly, and Lucy."_

_"Dad says you are," he said, though his grin faded. "You're Aunt Ginny's son, right? And Molly and Lucy are Uncle Percy's daughters. They're my cousins too!"_

_I gaped at him. I didn't know how I felt about strangers coming up to me and telling me they were relatives. I backed up until my bottom hit the display rack of sugar quills. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about," I said. We just sort of stared at each other, and I kind of wished that Mum thought I was still a little baby like Lily. The Louis boy didn't look angry, but he was bigger than me. _

_"Louis Weasley!" A pretty woman with long, silvery hair barreled toward us. "You're to leave him alone!"_

_"Dad said--"_

_But the woman -- I assumed she was his mother, because she had that special Mum glint in her eye that meant trouble -- started muttering to him in a strange language. I wanted to escape, but they'd cornered me, and I'd either have to crawl through their legs or push by them, and Mum told me at the restaurant the other week that that was rude and I shouldn't do it. So I sort of hunched over and pretended I was wearing Dad's invisibility cloak. _

_"Dad wanted me to come and talk to him, he told me!" Louis Weasley -- 'Weasley' was apparently a very common name -- said loudly. His face was bright red. _

_"Don't argue with me, young man," she said sternly. She glanced over at me. "I'm sorry about this."_

_"Er," I said. I shrugged and sort of ruffled my hair._

_"You look just like your dad," she said. She sounded a little sad, and she was already backing away. "I'm sorry again, Albus."_

_"It's Al," I said. But she didn't seem to hear me._

I thought obsessively about that memory. It amazed me that I'd had no clue and no awareness of the rest of the Weasley clan. In all of my memories except for these new ones, I'd had more cousins than I knew what to do with. I suppose I always took them for granted, but the fact that I didn't have a single memory playing Quidditch at the Burrow, or throwing rocks in the ocean (and sometimes at each other) at Shell Cottage, or doing our best to destroy Grimmauld Place (with Dad's unspoken approval)... their absence sort of made it difficult to breathe.

I wouldn't wish nonexistence on any of my cousins (and in my bleakest moments I thought it was pretty fucking ironic that all of my Weasley relatives, except Granddad Weasley, were still alive), but this... it was almost worse. I closed my eyes.

_It was first time going to Hogwarts -- I was finally eleven! -- and anxiety and excitement bubbled up and I thought I might even puke from it. It helped a little, to walk next to Dad. Every once in a while, he took his hand off the cart and ruffled my hair or squeezed my shoulder. James' teasing rang in my ears. "I won't be in Slytherin," I muttered to myself. I knew that I was probably lying; I could be a bit sneaky. Another bubble of nerves popped in my belly. _

_"You know that you can't bring your broom to school, Lucy," came a very familiar voice from out of the mist. I squinted, already bouncing on my heels. "It's regulated. You have to wait until next year, when you're a second year."_

_"That's so unfair," Lucy said. _

_"Al, wait!" Mum said loudly. But I was already pushing through the crowd, following the sound of my uncle's voice. I nearly knocked over a very small girl with light brown hair. _

_"Careful, Emmy!" said a man who must've been her father._

_"Sorry," I muttered. I reached a hand out to steady her. I was already moving again. I hadn't seen Uncle Percy, Aunt Audrey, or Molly and Lucy almost all summer; they'd gone on a big trip to South America. _

_"Watch where you're going!" she called after me crossly. _

_A tall red-haired man materialized out of the mist and I bounded over to him and gave him a hug. "Hi there, Uncle Percy! Guess what! I'm going to Hogwarts! Finally, finally, finally!"_

_It took several seconds before I realized that I'd made a big mistake. For one, the man was slightly thicker around the middle than Uncle Percy. For two, he stiffened right up and didn't hug me back. I stepped back and looked up. It wasn't Uncle Percy, but he was familiar nonetheless. It was one of the famous Weasley twins, part owner of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. I gaped, feeling like I'd met someone quite famous. _

_"Wow," I breathed. I rumpled my hair. I normally would have been humiliated that I'd just hugged a complete stranger, but my awe had pushed it to the side. I'd been obsessed with the joke shop, ever since James said he'd snuck into it and it was even _better _than we'd always imagined. "You own Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, don't you?" I asked eagerly. "I saw you in the _Daily Prophet _last week! Is it true you're opening a shop in Godric's Hollow? That's brilliant!"_

_The man just stared down at me, his mouth was slightly open. And he must've had something in his eyes, because I could've sworn they looked a bit wet. Maybe I'd squeezed him tighter than I thought. _

_I shuffled my feet. "I'm sorry about hugging you. I thought you were my uncle."_

_"An easy mistake to make, of course," he said. "And yes, we are opening a shop in Godric's Hollow. But I didn't know that you'd ever been."_

_"I haven't," I said. "But I'm going to go there first thing when we've got Hogsmeade weekends," I didn't add that Dad and Mum were unreasonable about us going there. _

_"Aren't you in first year?" he asked. I found it a little odd that he knew how old I was, but I brushed it off. Maybe he could just tell; he was around kids an awful lot._

_"Yes, but--"_

_"Uncle George!" Lucy shouted. "Tell Daddy that I should be able to keep my broom!"_

_Several things happened at once. The mist had lifted enough that it revealed a large group of people; Uncle Percy was in the center of it, and they all knew each other rather well. Had Lucy not called the man Uncle George; had I not recognized the boy Louis from Hogsmeade who said he was my cousin; had I not suddenly realized that perhaps 'Weasley' wasn't that common of a name, I think I would have known that something was wrong just by the look of shock and panic on Uncle Percy's face. _

_"Uncle Percy?" I said uncertainly. "Is this... is this your family?" But he and Mum were brother and sister. How could he have family that I didn't? "But... I don't understand."_

_"He doesn't even know who we are?" another one of the famous Weasley twins asked incredulously. _

_"Stop it, Fred," Uncle Percy said firmly. _

_"ALBUS POTTER!" Mum said loudly. I whirled around. She was right behind me, and her face was bright red. "Don't you run away from me like that."_

_"But I just wanted to say hi to Uncle Percy," I said. "And Aunt Audrey."_

_I could hear their quiet hellos from behind me, but I was too confused to do more than nod at them. And when Mum crooked her finger, I followed after her, not certain that I really wanted to know what was going on. _

Memory after memory battered me, and I felt the full consequences of the choice I had made to write the article. I had meant to buy time. I'd meant to make Dad and the others a little warier than they had been, because Voldemort had gone after Dad's friends just as soon as he was able. But it appeared that my plan had worked a little too well; instead of a few years, they'd had a lifetime of separation and estrangement. Instead of wariness, there had been distrust and even hatred.

I hadn't realized that love was quite so fragile, and that 'always and always' could be broken.

_I was thirteen and sort of afraid of going to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was different now that I knew that Fred and George Weasley were my uncles, and that Mum and Dad didn't speak to them anymore because of something that had happened years before I was born._

_"Do you suppose they were Death Eaters?" I asked James the summer before my third year. _

_He knew exactly what I was talking about. We were both a little obsessed with the topic. "Dunno," he said. "But it was something big, you know, I'll bet they were spies for Voldemort!"_

_"Do you still go to the shop?" I asked very, very quietly._

_"Yeah," he whispered. "Mum almost found my collection of Expendable Ears last week."_

_I winced, imagining the explosion. But I was already planning my trip to the shop. Emmy Wilder was going to go with me, and she was going to help me disguise myself. Just in case. _


	24. The Edge of Discovery

21 August 2028 - 19 September 2028

By the time I emerged from my cave, I had only one thought on my mind: Augustus Rookwood. I'd locked away the memories behind a wall in my head that would rival Gringotts' security measures. As soon as my mind began to wander down paths I didn't want it to go, I snapped myself out of it, no matter that I gave my brain whiplash. I couldn't force the churning in my gut to go away, but I could spend enough time in the library at the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship.

Not only was it a thriving center for research that, though it was only fifteen years old, drew foreign witches and wizards to it, but it held vast library of books, Ministry reports, and newspapers. I had memories from two different lifetimes of when it had first been built. It had been a joint idea of Dad's and Aunt Hermione's, and practically the entire Wizarding community -- who had been taught and mentored by Dumbledore -- had volunteered to offer funds, place the enchantments on the buildings and books, and do the basic work. I myself had planted a tree at the age of seven; Dad had wanted it to be a Whomping Willow, but Aunt Hermione had convinced him that an oak would do just fine.

I felt quite comfortable, buried there.

Something drove me. Actually, many things drove me. I wanted to fix the mistakes I had made in the past, and I read every little thing about Augustus Rookwood until my eyeballs literally ached and I wanted to slaughter the evil bastard myself. Dad had always hated Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange the most, so I knew the most about them. But what I hadn't known was the depths to which Augustus Rookwood had sunk to serve the dark, and I suspected that most hadn't cared because Rookwood hadn't been a splashy killer. His one truly dramatic act had been to escape Azkaban with Wormtail.

I think the thing that bothered me the most was the fact that he had worked for the Department of Mysteries. Not to be arrogant, but that particular department in the Ministry only accepted those with the very best scores. And I'd gotten complacent and used to thinking that stupidity had been the main trait of all the Death Eaters. They couldn't possibly have thought that they could get away with it. And why were they so ignorant about Muggles and Muggleborns, anyway? It was ludicrous to think that intelligent witches and wizards would actually believe that not having magic made someone ripe for killing. I knew that Voldemort had been brilliant, but I'd always just assumed that his followers had been mindless sheep.

I glanced down scornfully at the Ministry report that I held in my hand. "Baaa," I bleated darkly, though I could no longer hold the notion that Death Eater equalled complete moron. Rookwood's NEWT scores were exactly the same as mine. And the image of Voldemort herding a bunch of mindless sheep into slaughtering Muggles wafted away.

Rookwood had not been a sheep, and I was almost entirely certain that he had something to do with the fact that Voldemort found out about the time travel. Certain enough that I was already planning another jump to the past, to visit the end of Dad's third year. _I'm insane, _I thought grimly. _Dad was right to think I'm a lunatic_. Sometimes I couldn't help but erupt in laughter at the thought that I was actually considering breaking into Azkaban.

"Face it, Al," I chuckled one evening after I found myself debating whether or not to steal Rookwood's memories or just kill him outright. "You've gone completely barmy! Mental, even!" But somehow, I didn't care. Suddenly, everything was funny, and I had to escape the quiet sanctuary for scholars and go around back to the Memorial Garden so I could let loose the hysteria that bubbled in my chest.

I was breathing deeply by the time I made it outside. Night had fallen, and I took in great gasps of air. It started with a snort, and then it sort of escalated from there until I leaned up against the tree that I had planted in memory of the man I had been named after, and my shoulders shook. It was almost like sobbing. It hurt, and it came from somewhere inside me that was obviously pretty twisted. _All of my relatives are alive except Granddad_. I chortled. _Even the ones who were dead before I ever went back in time. _My head rolled back on my shoulders and the bark was rough against my back.

It was suddenly pretty fucking hilarious that Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron had used the Tears of Merlin to save their family, and then suffer a permanent break from them. Because of me, their own offspring.

My shoulders heaved and quaked.

_At least I saved them from the Fiendfyre_.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone laugh so hard in a garden designed for those who were murdered."

I knew her voice immediately, even though I'd avoided her in several lifetimes now. I looked up and there was Emmy Wilder. Even in the darkness she seemed very bright. And suddenly, without warning, the laughter died and the backs of my eyes burned as though someone had placed a poker inside my head. I was very close to tears; I would have been humiliated, but frankly, I was beyond that. I mean, I've caused various family members and friends to be killed, then I'd managed to get them unkilled but the family that Dad had been practically adopted into had turned their backs on him; compared to all of that, getting teary-eyed like a baby in front of the only girl who made my heart race was nothing.

"Are you blushing?" she asked curiously.

Okay. Maybe it wasn't nothing. "No," I said. I hadn't seen her since I'd left her stunned on the floor right before my first, very stupid trip back in time. I don't think I'd ever really appreciated how beautiful she was. "What are you doing here?" I almost swallowed my tongue when she recoiled a bit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just... surprised to see you."

"It's been a while," she said neutrally, though something in her seemed to relax a bit.

The mad urge to confess everything to her crashed over me. I was suddenly so keen to tell her that my skin practically tingled from it, and I had no idea why--

_Don't lie to yourself, Al_. The thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. It was as though someone had shouted in my ear; and as if a veil had been drawn back, I realized with complete clarity that I had somehow fallen in love with this woman in every lifetime, no matter how much or how little I had changed. I wasn't certain how to feel about this. Scared shitless? Awed? Insane? A mixture of all three, with a dash of annoyance and a sprinkle of heart ache?

"Are you all right?" she asked sharply. "Why are you -- what's going on with you, Al?"

But I couldn't really speak. In the very first life that I remembered living, I'd been a scared, grieving fourteen year old who had wanted something to make him forget. And she'd shot me down; I couldn't blame her for that anymore. And in another life, when I'd lost Dad at the age of sixteen rather than fourteen, I'd used her to find oblivion, and because I couldn't live with myself for taking something that could have been glorious and dirtied it with emotional baggage... I'd humiliated her in front of everyone we knew. I'd wanted her to hate me, and it had worked. But this time I'd been fifteen--

My mind shut down.

"Al. Al? _Al!_"

"Do you remember the year that Voldemort was defeated?" I asked suddenly.

"Not personally, no," she said tartly. "Do you mean the date?"

"Yeah," I said. I was strangely focused intensely on her, and yet I felt a million miles away.

"I know you're bad at maths, but honestly..." she said. "It was spring of 1997."

And Dad had died in the spring of 2021. Except that before I'd ever made a jump in time, he'd defeated Voldemort in winter of 1995, and he'd died in winter 2019. And the times when he'd defeated Voldemort in 1998, he'd died in 2022... what were the odds of Dad contracting the same sickness after the exact same interval of time? My brain, so unused to doing sums or arithmetic (I tended to avoid that as much as possible) churned and stuttered, and I dragged the exact dates of Voldemort's defeat in each of the timelines out of my head. Not only were the years correct, but Dad had died exactly twenty four years and twenty four days after his old enemy had been vanquished.

I pinched myself. _How is it possible that's a coincidence?_ "Emmy," I said. I felt dazed and disoriented, and not just because I'd found a small measure of hope completely unlooked for. "I have to go."

"Where?" she said. She sounded resigned.

"I don't really know," I said. Twenty four months and twenty four days. Every damn time. Restless energy gripped my body and I took a few steps forward. Then I paused, wanting to be reassured of my sanity. "Emmy..."

"Yes?" she said quickly.

"Do you... let's say that you did something three or four times," I said. I had to choose my words carefully. I did not want her finding out about the time travel again. "And whenever you did that thing, something else always happened. Like... let's say you borrowed your brother's broom--"

"--I haven't got a brother," she interrupted. "What's this about?"

"Imagine you've got one," I said impatiently. "And each time you borrowed it, exactly... I don't know... twenty four hours later, your hair fell out. Every time you borrowed it without permission. Would you... would you think that was just a coincidence?"

"Of course not," she said immediately. "Al, what the hell are you on about?"

"I have to go," I said again. And this time I really did leave.

--

--

**Author's Note:**

_If I were you, I'd go reread the 'Always and Always' chapter in Backward With Purpose. Just saying. And Holy Grail. And Sacrifice. But that's just me..._


	25. Strange Birds Carrying Jars

02 October 2028

By the time I was ready to, once again, travel to the past, I felt like my brain was about to implode. I kept wanting to research what had caused Dad's death, but I was a little afraid to delve into what must be very dark magic indeed. I knew where the reference books were, or at least I thought I did. But I was pretty conspicuous -- even after all these years, people still remember Dad's face, and how it is echoed in mine. I could use Polyjuice Potion, but that could possibly take months; I could change my looks with human transfiguration, but something stopped me.

It sounded remarkably like Emmy's voice (when she had tried to stop me from making my first jump), and every time I jumped up, bathed in a cold sweat, ready to run out and find answers in books made from human skin or printed in blood or bound with bone, it stopped me. Every time I intended to Apparate to Knockturn Alley and bury myself in magic that would make my skin crawl, a small voice in my head told me I was being rash.

And that I still had a job to do, and I couldn't lose focus. I couldn't lose my head and forget that Rookwood knew about the prophecy just because there was a chance that Dad's supposedly natural death hadn't been so natural after all. _Stop Voldemort from finding out_, I told myself. _Then you can figure it out_. I also planned to do my research in the blackest magic in the past; it felt safer somehow. I would be completely anonymous.

I stared down at the blank parchment, and played with the end of my quill. I took a deep breath, hoped for the best, and began my letter to Aunt Luna. I felt like a bit of a coward, but I was very glad that Aunt Luna (last seen as a precocious six year old who still sucked her thumb) was out of the country.

_Dear Aunt Luna,_

_I'm sure you remember (I wrote that I wasn't, at first, but I was just being stupid) meeting me in 1988. Thanks for not telling anyone, by the way. Especially since I screwed up so badly by writing that stupid article. I honestly meant to save them, rather than turn them away from Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ron forever. _

_I've discovered that Rookwood was the one to tell Voldemort about the time travel. It's just about certain. He worked for the Department of Mysteries -- there's no reason that he couldn't have known what 'bent' meant. He was in the Hog's Head Inn in 1981, and I'm positive that he obliviated me. So I'm going to go back and stop him. I need a memory from you to do it; right around the time of their escape. _

_Love,_

_Al_

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

21 October 2028

Instead of an owl, a large bird with a huge beak soared into my open window; he carried a small, rolled up parchment. Dangling from its foot was a small, crystal jar filled with one of her memories. I set it down next to the pensieve that I had liberated from the Institute; apparently Severus Snape, having no memory of me, had donated Albus' old one to the Institute. I wondered if I'd always find small ironies in my life.

_Dear Al,_

_Still not much of a correspondent? _

_Save Neville. _

_Love,_

_Aunt Luna_

_P.S. No more articles!_

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**The Laws of Time Travel: **(These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(The universe is not kidding about this one.)(After everything else I've changed, I'm sort of glad that I'd die before I could kill Mum and Dad)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)(Yep, still don't like Fate so much)(I still hate Fate, but I hate articles more)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)(I'm still waiting to find out what these are; I've got a bad feeling)(I wonder if this has something to do with the fact that no matter how much I change things, certain events always happen, like Dad having his blood taken in the graveyard, or Granddad Weasley being attacked at the Department of Mysteries)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)(Even if you really, really, really want to get drunk)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

_Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are._

_Don't tell your dad that you are his child from the future. He will just think you're a lunatic._

_Try to avoid the subject of someone's imminent death. They get really cranky when they know exactly how and when they're going to die._

_Don't do things to deliberately turn people against your father. They will actually be turned against him, and they may not find a way back from distrust and dislike. _

--

--

**Author's Note:**

_In order to prevent the explosion of heads, I've put in this handy flow chart that my friend Mel typed up. Thanks to Mel, who is far more organized than I am._

**Original timeline: **_Everyone dies except H/R/G. __DD dies as in canon, by Snape, at the end of HBP_

**Tears of Merlin: **_H/R/G go to see DD's portrait, although we don't learn until later, he at first tries to dissuade them from going back. __He has no independent knowledge of what will happen.__They send their memories back.__We don't see this journey in BWP but hear about bits and pieces later. __In this journey, H/R/G don't tell DD everything right away. __They also free Sirius immediately. Because of their travel, the prophecy is changed to include "Bent for always and always" The final battle with VD happens in the DoM when Harry is 15.__DD dies.__The twins die.__ Snape dies.__The rest of the lives progress, Harry and Ginny get married (again, technically), and have James, Albus and Lily.__Harry dies at 39 from an illness._

**Merlin 1: **_Al, at age 22, goes back to Halloween 1981.__He cannot change the prophecy.__His presence alerts the world to the fact of it, and also adds the word "terrible" to it.__His presence, plus the fact that his parents freed Sirius right away, plus other unknown facts, alert Voldemort to __the time travel (or so they think).__DD is tortured for info about the time travel. __The final battle is pushed back by two years. __Molly, Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Remus, Charlie all die during Harry's fourth year, right after Voldemort returned. Harry and Ginny marry, etc., have James, Lily and Al, etc.__Harry dies at 41. __At age 22, Al begins acquiring memories of what he did.__He goes to see DD's portrait to plan his next trip back._

**Merlin 2: **_Al continues meeting with DD, but is eventually found out by his mother.__He takes a memory from his drunk uncle Ron.__The memory is of a time about four days before the final battle in the OT.__The purpose of this trip is to make his father think that the Hallows kept him alive, and to have Dumbledore be supportive and ask to be told immediately about the time travel.__This is necessary so that he can truly sacrifice himself again when the time comes.__The final battle happens much the same way as is Merlin 2.__VD still knows about the time travel. Snape survives the strike against the Order, though he is badly burned. I would suggest rereading the prologue to Backward With Purpose, with the knowledge that Dumbledore had already met Al as Merlin._

**Merlin 3: **_Obviously, the article has changed quite a lot. Harry was kicked out of the Burrow, the Weasleys distrusted him, and the Molly interlude never happened. The Weasleys never chose to trust Harry (except for Percy), so the estrangement between them from the time Harry got kicked out to the time they tell the family the truth lasts for a lifetime in this timeline rather than just a few years. Also, Arthur was killed by Nagini in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort found out about the time travel, and Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and Dumbledore are dead. Also, Al talked to Luna and her dad. _


	26. Aunt Luna, 1994

Updated for Author's Note

12 June 1994

I blinked rapidly, watching as Hogwarts slowly appeared through the mist. I materialized right along with it; it never failed to impress me that traveling time through memories was a singularly unique experience. Everything slowly became sharply focused when I arrived, and then it faded as I left. I was pretty much an old hand at time travel -- I now had four ugly scars on my hand (I wished that I'd known that I'd do this so much, because I could've actually had a design of scars, like a sunburst or a star...) to prove it -- but there was always that feeling of the surreal. _I am now in 1994_.

I couldn't quite believe it. I would have thought that Aunt Luna would have withheld the memory because I'd obviously screwed up, and while I was grateful that she'd provided it, I couldn't help but think that if I were her, I'd lock me up. I shrugged; it was a strange feeling, as I was still coming into my body. I was still halfway a ghost. I held up my hands; little tendrils of silver clung to them and shone in the brightening light.

"Merlin!" called a happy voice.

I spun around. Aunt Luna sat cross-legged on a rock on the shore of the lake. She beamed at me.

"This is 1994, right?" I asked uncertainly. I'd last seen her when she was six years old, and she still seemed quite small. I felt a hollow, sinking in my stomach. The last thing -- the very last thing that I wanted to do was make a wasted trip to the past. _What if I--_

"It is," she replied cheerfully. Her eyes were huge in her face. "It's the twelfth of June 1994, and Daddy always said that you would return! And look! Did you use one of my memories? Daddy said that I might be lucky enough to help Merlin on his Quest, and I think I must have because no one ever comes to this exact spot except for me, I don't think, I've never seen anyone else here." She said all of this very quickly.

"Er - yeah," I said uncomfortably. I wondered if she knew that my Quest was mostly to not fuck everything up. "Listen," I rumpled my hair nervously. I held out my other hand toward her, showing the deep scars in my palm. There were four, and if it weren't for the fact that I really, desperately wanted to believe that Dad's death wasn't natural -- _but I really mustn't get my hopes up, I can't, because I could just be wrong _-- I would wish for a clean, smooth palm. It was difficult to see my own mistakes and arrogance slashed into my hand. "I keep coming back... because I screwed everything up, and I'm trying to change that."

I forced myself to meet her eyes. The serene look didn't leave.

"Dad and my Weasley relatives..." my voice trailed away.

"Daddy wondered why you wrote that article," she said. She reached out and traced my scars, all of them. The new one looked old and healed over, but I knew that when I returned to the future it would burst open and bleed as a lifetime of memories entered my body and mind through the wound. "It turned people against Arthur, didn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. "And it never... it doesn't get better. See, every time I come to the past, all of you grow up with the changes that I've made. And Dad and Mum and Uncle Ron never talk to any of the others except for Uncle Percy. I wrote the article to save them, I really did, I just wanted to buy some time, so that Voldemort wouldn't come after them. But they never found their way back to being a family again." I'd tried so hard to just not think about it. But seeing Aunt Luna brought it all up to the front. I knew that I was being unfair. She was only twelve years old and I was older than her, and I was burdening her. I just couldn't help thinking of her as my godmother.

She shifted position and hugged her knees, cocking her head. She pointed at my hand. "You have four scars," she pointed out.

"Yeah," I said.

"Daddy says that time travel is very painful," she said.

I couldn't argue with that, though the pain was more on the returning end, when my body and mind received a lifetime of new memories. "Yeah," I said. "It is."

"But he also says that one day you -- Merlin -- will look down at your hand and you might have a lot of scars, but your Quest will be over," she said. Her face was arranged in the most serious look I'd seen on her. "Daddy says that you won't give up. You'll finish your Quest, even though it hurts."

"But I--"

"King Arthur doesn't ever give up, I know that about him. We're quite good friends, you know," she said. "And you're his son."

I felt a warmth that didn't come from the midday sun. I didn't feel like I deserved the complete faith shown toward me by the Lovegoods, and I wasn't certain how I'd impressed on them that I was anywhere near the man my dad was, but the way it made me feel was indescribable. When she looked at me, I knew that she expected me to fix my mistakes and maybe even make things better than they had been before. She must not know that I felt very lost and confused, and I had no idea how I could make the mess between my family disappear. "I don't know how to fix things with my family," I said. I shielded my eyes with my hand. "Will you come with me? I've got to get something."

She slid off the rock. "I'm sure you'll figure out a way," she said serenely. "You could always tell your dad that you--"

"I can't," I shook my head firmly. I performed the Disillusionment Charm on both myself and her, and then cast Muffliato as well. Just in case. Then I conjured a cord between us that would keep us together, though we couldn't see each other. "Albus told me that Dad had to think he would die, otherwise the magic wouldn't work properly."

There was a tug on the cord. She's stopped in her tracks. "What?" she said blankly.

I sighed. I didn't like this either. "Dad... he's got a bit of Voldemort's soul in him," I explained. "So he's got to take the Killing Curse again, otherwise Voldemort can't die. And Grandma Potter's sacrifice and the fact that Voldemort takes his blood when he resurrects himself saves Dad from dying too. But if he thinks he's going to live, he doesn't protect people, and people die." I couldn't tell if she was understanding me or not. "So I went back to the time before Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron used the Tears of Merlin, and I took away Dad's knowledge and made him think that it was the Deathly Hallows that saved him."

She started walking again, though she didn't say anything. I kept us heading in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. "He united the Deathly Hallows?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "He's got the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Resurrection Stone is actually one of the Horcruxes -- little bits of Voldemort's soul that make him immortal -- and Albus has got the Elder Wand."

"So why does the sacrificial magic work if he's got access to the Hallows?" she asked.

It was my turn to stop in my tracks. I had not considered this in any of my sojourns in the future; neither had Albus or Severus. It seemed like a pretty glaring mistake. "It doesn't," I said slowly. "I don't..."

My mind raced. Albus had asked me to make sure that Dad didn't know that he'd survive the curse again. But Aunt Luna was right. If he had all three of the Deathly Hallows, why would he worry about whether or not he'd actually die? I felt very stupid. "I should take away one of them," I whispered hoarsely. "Albus -- he'd want me to."

She sighed. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep this to myself," she admitted in a small voice. "It's been hard enough to not tell them they aren't the only ones manipulating time."

I didn't really know what to say. Thankfully, we arrived at the storage shed beside the stands that overlooked the Quidditch pitch. I blasted open the lock, and ducked inside. I eyed the brooms critically. The Slytherin brooms were the best; they were old Nimbus 2001s, and while they weren't Firebolts or Cirrus, they were reasonably fast. The other houses were still utilizing Cleansweeps. I took one down off the shelf, weighing it in my hands.

"Are you going to take that?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Of course," I said, equally surprised. I needed a broom, and these were handy. I certainly didn't want to buy one.

She chuckled a little. "You were in Slytherin, weren't you?"

**Author's Note:**

_Sorry for doing this, guys, but consider this a plea for help! I'm trying to make a livejournal thing (I'm planning on trying to join some communities), but I have no idea how the authors make that little link in the middle of the blog. You know... how they hide some parts of the story or whatever, and there's a link to the rest of the entry? I know I sound like a complete moron, but help! Someone! Anyone!_


	27. Rookwood

13 June 1994

Dawn broke sullenly. I hovered on my broomstick, shivering in the chill. I'm not one to be poetic about nature, but I don't think I've ever seen a sky look uglier; I scowled and wrapped my cloak more firmly around myself. _Where are they? _I scanned the island once more; I directed the Nimbus 2001 to circle around it, even though the charm I had cast to alert me of human presence beyond the walls would act as an alert. My nerves jangled, and my teeth chattered with something other than cold.

I couldn't see the dementors. But night still clung to the walls of Azkaban; some of the sliding shadows may have been the creatures... or Pettigrew and Rookwood. But the charm was still silent. I soared as close to the walls of the prison as I dared; a distant part of me wondered if the numbing cold was normal, or if I could feel the creatures from this distance. Even the spray of the ocean reminded of the strange mist -- the product of dementors breeding -- that had been so pervasive in the time leading up to the first final battle, the one in which everyone but my parents and Uncle Ron had died.

Before the Tears of Merlin. Before I'd taken it upon myself to follow in their footsteps and manipulate time and fate.

The memories -- the worst ones -- seemed to swell up in my head as I continued my lazy arc above the prison. My parents had had to live with the choices I'd made three times, even if they only remembered once. I was certain that Rookwood had been my greatest mistake -- I wished that I'd known that. I wouldn't have thought to use the article as a shield.

I grimaced as the morning continued on in silence. It seemed odd to me that they would choose to escape in full daylight. But dementors were blind, after all; maybe they were more lethargic in the sun? I squinted at the prison and flew a bit closer. No windows. It was possible that Pettigrew and Rookwood had no idea what time of day it was. Another possibility occurred to me, and my stomach twisted. _It was possible that the _Daily Prophet _had gotten the day of the escape wrong_. Perhaps the dementors had not noticed the absence for a few days. What if Pettigrew was already heading to Hogwarts? What if Rookwood was on the path that would lead him to Albania and Voldemort?

I froze. The broom hovered, and I seriously began to consider the possibility that I had been wrong. Indecision and fear gripped me--

And a soaring, piercing note -- suddenly a beautiful sound, and not annoying at all -- emanated from the the tip of my wand. I angled the handle of my broom downward, and held the wand out to guide me. It led me around to the opposite side, where the waves seemed even fiercer and rocks sharper. I would never have seen them had I not cast the charms that were like a net and a beacon.

I could not see Pettigrew. I assumed that he was in his rat form. But Rookwood -- a pale, trembling wraith -- stumbled and tripped over the rocks, ripping his tattered robes even further. I soared over him; he did not appear very cognizant of his surroundings. I wondered if the Disillusionment Charm had even been necessary. When I was just over the rocks from him, I summoned the small boat.

I guessed that they would have swam from the prison to the shore. And though I loathed the idea of helping Death Eaters, I didn't want to fly above them as they paddled. I'd found a boat that looked as battered and uncomfortable as possible; I'd also added a few spells to make sure that the wood had a few more splinters than it might have done had I not toyed with it.

"Wormtail,"Rookwood muttered. "Boat -- dunno how." He collapsed on the rock above it and slid down out of sight.

There was a rustling and Wormtail appeared. His garb hung on him loosely. I remembered a plump young man; Wormtail looked almost cadaverous in comparison. He twitched; I could see the whites of his eyes. "Boat?" he chuckled nervously. then covered his own mouth. "How careless of them."

"You're rowing," Rookwood said.

Wormtail drew himself up to his full height. "I am _not_, Rookwood; I'm the one who got our arses out of there," he said in a heated whisper. He appeared not to even notice when a wave crashed near him and doused his trousers with frigid water. "Who did all the work? I didn't have to let you out--"

"I've been in there longer than you have," Rookwood said in a raspy voice. "And I'm more important."

"Oh yes," Wormtail rolled his eyes. "How could I forget that you've got _information_. About time travel." I could tell that this was an old argument; Wormtail appeared not to believe Rookwood at all. I smiled grimly. "If you think that the Dark Lord--"

"Shut the fuck up, you useless worm," Rookwood seethed. I came to the conclusion that though they had escaped together, these two were not the best of mates. "Just because I haven't told you everything--"

"--not much to tell," Wormtail said. He looked around. "Would you just get in the boat?"

Rookwood clambered in. Wormtail followed and pushed them off. There was a brief scuffle; they each tried to force the single oar I'd given them onto each other. Rookwood won and, with shaking arms, Wormtail pointed them in the direction of the shore and started them on their way. I did not want to continue to listen to them argue in petulant voices; the stench their bodies gave off was equally repulsive. I rose up in the air, feeling slightly warmer and brighter than I had just minutes ago. As Azkaban faded away quickly (I gave extra help to the traitor rowing the boat), I felt marginally more hopeful than I had done the entire night.

And when the boat struck shore more than an hour later, I was ready.

Before either of them could move, I muttered, "_Incarcerous_," and shiny black ropes slithered around their hands and ankles. They both cried out in shock and terror -- I thought Wormtail might have pissed himself -- and I dismounted and revealed myself. "Hi there," I said. Adrenaline flooded my body. Wormtail squeaked and tried to get away, and I silenced him with a flick of my wrist; Rookwood's eyes were round with terror and disbelief. And recognition. "You took my memory," I told him.

He didn't say anything. I didn't expect him to. I saw the truth of it in his eyes. I felt vindicated.

"The great thing about time travel," I said conversationally. "Is that some things are easily fixed." I didn't feel like baring my soul to these assholes, so I neglected to mention how very many things were _not _easily fixed.

"You're going to kill me," he said. It wasn't a question.

I can honestly say that the thought had never crossed my mind. It probably should have. I gaped at him, though, and though I already felt a bit like a murderer because my actions had caused the deaths of people I loved, the idea repulsed me. He was pale, gaunt, and totally at my mercy, and the act of killing him would be easy. But I wouldn't do it. "No," I said shortly.

I didn't, however, have any qualms about using another one of the Unforgivables. "_Imperio_," I said firmly. Wormtail's eyes glazed over and I loosened the bonds around him. It was an odd sensation; it was as though I had grown another limb, my control over him was that complete. He knelt beside Rookwood and held out his hand. "You're going to swear the Unbreakable Vow," I said easily. Rookwood had the lean, hungry look of a feral dog; I knew he would scent fear and uncertainty.

"I'm not," he said.

I laughed. He was trussed up and wandless. I knew it and he knew it. "_Sectumsempra_," I said. A thick chunk of his hair wafted to the bottom of the boat. Rookwood cringed back. My heart thumped in my chest; I didn't think I'd actually torture him, though I was fairly certain that I wouldn't mind cutting him up a little. Not too deeply. I looked around; the beach we'd landed on was deserted, just as I'd known it would be. The only sounds came from the wind, the waves, and the squelching sound my feet made when I moved.

Rookwood appeared to be holding his breath.

I checked the connection between myself and Wormtail; the Imperius Curse appeared to still be going strong. "_Sectumsempra_," I said again. A cut appeared on his hand, bleeding freely. We both stared at it. I wished that I could use the Imperius Curse on two people at once. Rookwood drew in a ragged breath. "You may not mind being cut," I said. I'd been struck with an idea. "But I was planning on returning you to Azkaban, and letting this moron"--I kicked out and caught Pettigrew in the ribs--"continue on with his business of being a complete waste of humanity. You can either swear your little vow, and I can let you return to your cell safe and sound, and no one will ever know that you had a little jaunt outside the walls. Or... I can leave you on this shore, and let the dementors find you. They'll be so happy to see you that they'll give you a little kiss..."

He breathed in deeply through uneven teeth; his dark eyes glinted malevolently. The moment hung suspended; he knew that I was absolutely telling the truth, and his mouth gaped in stark fear. He raised a shaking hand to his lips.

"That won't work," I said. "Swear the vow, or I'll leave you here."

His nostrils flared; he scrabbled at Pettigrew's hand and took it. I tapped their joined hands. I told him what to say.

"I swear never to tell the Dark Lord or anyone else about the time travel," he said sullenly. A fiery rope encircled their wrists. I couldn't help but appreciate the irony that Wormtail was the third person involved in the Vow. His presence -- forced though it was -- would help my father, the son of those he had betrayed.

"Or the prophecy," I supplied.

"I swear never to tell the Dark Lord or anyone else about the prophecy," he said. Another flame bound him further.

"And?" I prompted.

"I swear never to tell the Dark Lord or anyone else that I saw your or met you," he said. It looked as though the words hurt him to say. I had the pleasure of hearing the death rattle of his ambition. Giddy relief bubbled up inside me, and I lifted my arms and did a victory dance while Wormtail stared vacantly and Rookwood squeezed his eyes shut, as though he couldn't bear to watch.


	28. Fear Killing Hope

13 June 1994

I did not feel much like dancing when I returned to the beach after returning Rookwood to Azkaban and directing him, with the Imperius Curse, back to his cell. I was weary and cold, and finding that Wormtail had escaped his bonds and run off just really hacked me off. His feet had churned up the sand, and I could see the exact moment when he mustered the energy to change back into a rat. The deep footprints ended, and a little skittering of tiny holes went up the slope and into the rocks.

I was torn between annoyance at the fact that I'd never learned to track people down (I wished James was with me, he had skills), and a sort of hopeless relief that at least I knew where he was heading: Hogwarts. And I'd already taken care of stealing his memories (again), even though he'd also been bound by the Unbreakable Vow, and if Voldemort even tried to extract the knowledge using Legilimency, Wormtail would die.

But Luna had wanted me to save Neville Longbottom.

I stood there in the morning light. It was a misty day and my face was wet with salt water from both the ocean and the air. I'd done my homework before coming to 1994. Wormtail and Rookwood's escape had been well recorded. Half of the dementors had followed Wormtail's trail; the other half had followed Rookwood. And Wormtail's had ended abruptly at Hogwarts after Dad and others had encouraged him to go find Voldemort. But they had not succeeded without a casualty; Wormtail had brought dementors with him, and Neville, who had only been thirteen and hadn't had a good handle on the Patronus Charm, had been given the Kiss.

_Save Neville_.

I'd been hoping to peruse Knockturn Alley and other bastions of Dark Arts in order to conduct research as to what kind of curse or spell -- if any -- had led to Dad's death. But I needed to be at Hogwarts and be ready for when Wormtail led the dementors to the gates and onto the grounds. But now...

The day suddenly seemed darker and I turned around. There was a low, black cloud on the horizon; it chilled me to consider the possibility that it was the dementors already, angry and churning at the escape of one of their prisoners. I'd cut it awfully close. _It could just be a storm moving in_, I thought. But it appeared to be moving quickly; the misty spray had a sudden touch of ice in it, and I realized just how exposed I was on this lonely beach, and how close I may have come to ruining things with Rookwood.

I pointed my wand at the boat I had provided for the Death Eaters. "_Expulso_," I said firmly, and it blew apart into a thousand different pieces. I erased my footprints and, gripping my broom tightly, Disapparated.

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11 July 1994

I'd taken to crashing at the Lovegoods' house. I was wary of staying at Godric's Hollow -- Sirius was in the vicinity now, I knew, and when I'd gone to hide the Invisibility Cloak underneath Granddad and Grandma Potter's bed, I was grateful that I hadn't returned there. Someone had lived there for a time and made a right mess of things. There was an empty bottle of firewhiskey just inside the door to the cottage, all of the food I'd purchased with stolen money had been eaten, and there was a half-eaten bag of crisps that now had fungus growing on it.

So when Xeno Lovegood had offered to let me stay at their strange house, I didn't say no.

But the moment that I had been dreading had finally arrived. It was the morning of my last day and Xeno and Luna had made me a Plimpy omelet, and I found myself nearly unable to eat it.

"Uncertain of what you're going to find when you return?" Xeno said sympathetically.

I blinked at him. I couldn't imagine that what I'd done in 1994 could make 2028 any worse. I'd taken pretty strong measures to ensure that Voldemort would not find out about the time travel, sent Wormtail on his merry way, and I'd stolen Dad's Cloak to activate the sacrificial magic. Other than that, I liked to think that this time I'd been the butterfly, not the hurricane. Nevertheless... "A bit," I admitted. I glanced over at Aunt Luna. I didn't want to take her memories away; the prospect of returning to a time when absolutely no one knew of what I'd done was a little comforting (especially if I somehow managed to screw up again), but mostly it was lonely.

"I can't imagine that delving into the darkest of arts helps with the mood, either," Xeno said placidly.

I started. I hadn't realized he'd known.

"One of my eyes may be crossed, but I'm not blind," he said cheerfully.

"I'm not doing it for myself," I said. He did not look surprised or concerned; I once again felt extremely odd that he had such faith in me. I didn't really feel like I deserved it. But it was pleasant and warm, and I once again felt the urge to confide in him. "But... do you know of any curses that maybe don't activate for a while? And it will kill people?"

Aunt Luna's head turned. I knew she was interested in the conversation. Aunt Luna was about as good a person as someone could get, but she was highly keen on learning to defend herself. I'd spent an afternoon teaching her potentially dangerous spells, such as the one I'd seen Professor Flitwick used, that turned a man to stone.

Xeno rubbed his chin. "Curses..." he mused. "It might behoove you to search through Ministry law," he said. He sounded more serious than I'd ever heard. "There are only three Unforgivables, you know that, but there are other illegal spells."

"I don't even know if the curse exists," I admitted. "It's just... it seems odd that Dad dies the exact amount of time after he defeats Voldemort"--I ignored his shudder--"but then..." I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm born on the same day every year. What if it's one of those Cornerstones of Fate? What if I'm just being stupid like I used to be and I'm thinking about it in the wrong way..."

Both of his eyes were narrowed at me in thought. "What was your first goal? What made you come back in time?"

"To save Dad," I said, ruffling my hair. I felt very removed from the selfish, stupid Al who had first gone back in time. "But it wasn't even possible. And then I--"

"Al," he said firmly. "Don't let fear kill hope." He pointed at my slashed up hand. "Keep looking."

I was afraid to believe that there was hope, and the longer I was in the past, the more the fear grew. I desperately wanted it to be true... but what if it wasn't? It would feel like losing him all over again. And a part of me just didn't want to know the truth, because if Fate had decreed that Dad had to die twenty four years and twenty four days after Voldemort's defeat, that would just be so grossly unfair. I felt pulled in two directions; I didn't want to leave one stone unturned. But at the same time, I wanted to leave just one. And I could look at it for a long time and maybe convince myself that underneath that rock was the solution. Sometimes believing was just so much better than knowing...

"The sun is going down," Aunt Luna said after a long moment of silence. I think both of them knew what was going through my head, but both were tactful enough not to mention it.

I sighed, and pulled out a small vial of Forget-For-Now Potion. "Are you sure you don't want any?" I asked Xeno.

"I'm sure," he said. "If you find that your task is not yet finished, come find me."

"I will," I promised. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," Aunt Luna said. "I'm not forgetting forever. Just until you tell me again."

I nodded. She drank it down, and I whispered the words, "I'm in love with a Heliopath." It was her choice of unlocking phrase, not mine. She pointed out that she wasn't likely to hear it accidentally from me when I was a child. Still, I felt rather stupid for saying it. As soon as my task was complete, I stood up and shook Xeno's hand. "Thanks for listening," I said quietly.

He smiled at me, and I left the house. I stood in the direction of the Burrow; I didn't even bother to hope that I had managed to accidentally repair that which had been broken. The wind sighed and moaned and started whispering, and I took in a deep breath as I began my return journey to the future.

**Author's Note:**

_Just a reminder that you can read the instance when Al steals Harry's cloak and gets Wormtail off to Voldemort in _Backward With Purpose_. _


	29. The Fifth

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of sixteen during the Battle for the Diagon Alley. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, among others. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for his wife's family, the Weasleys, in the moments before he died, despite the almost lifelong estrangement. _

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, or the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship._

**GINEVRA POTTER, KEY FIGURE IN DEFEAT OF VOLDEMORT, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Ginevra Potter, one of the most instrumental members of the Order of the Phoenix, former Quidditch player, Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_, followed her husband, Harry Potter, in death. She collapsed suddenly minutes after his passing, and despite the best efforts of the Healers, passed away. She was thirty nine years old. "They had a connection," says Mrs. Hermione Weasley. "None of us really understood it, but -- it's horrible and tragic and awful, but they're together still." Mr. Ronald Weasley says that Mrs. Potter's "greatest achievement was her ability to love."_

_She is survived by her three children. _

_The family is asking that in lieu of flowers, please show condolence by donating in her name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship, or the Potter Home for Orphans. _


	30. The Double Funeral

18 September 2028

I used to think that Dad's funeral was the worst day of my life. In fact, being around the dementors in 1994 had brought out those feelings again: helplessness, anguish, and this hovering grief that was just waiting to smack me down. But in the space of one heartbeat to the next (but was, in actuality, five months of my body acquiring new lifetimes of memories), I acquired a new worst day. A double funeral. And even though it was just in my memories, it was as real and vivid as though I was living it again and again.

_I was sweating through my robes, and a stupid cow was waxing poetic about Mum and Dad, as though she'd known them. But I'd never seen her before in my life. _

_"--they were both such saints," she said quiveringly. "Saints. The love they shared... it was just too wonderful to stay with us for very long."_

_I exchanged incredulous glances with James. I could practically hear him say "What the hell?" It was obvious that the stupid cow had never even been in the same room as Mum and Dad, let alone actually spoken with them enough to write a eulogy that didn't make those who knew them vomit in their mouths a little. Dad and Mum were many things, but a saint was not one of them. Dad was brave and hard-working, but he had a temper that rivaled Mum's once he got going. I suddenly remembered that time when the three of us had stolen Dad's wand and taken the Knight Bus to the zoo (we were looking for Aunt Luna). If that woman had seen his reaction to that, she sure as hell wouldn't have called him a saint._

_And Mum... I thought that her temper had been legendary. I'd heard the stories of how she'd get on referees for bad calls, and she'd never hesitated to blast people apart for stupidity in her articles. No one who knew her would've thought that she'd been a saint either. _

_"What are you smiling at?" Lily nudged me in the ribs. I was horrified. I'd actually smiled at my own parents' funeral? But Lily didn't look like she wanted to hex me. Her eyes were large and watery, and she seemed a lot smaller than normal. _

_"Remember when we went to find Aunt Luna at the zoo?" I asked. "Dad was _not_ a saint."_

_"My arse _still_ hurts," James murmured. All three of us chuckled a little. I just couldn't help it. I could hear disapproving mutters from the crowd behind us, but Uncle Ron reached around James and clapped my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. Aunt Hermione stroked Lily's hair. _And they're the ones that matter,_ I thought resentfully. _This funeral is rubbish. They would've hated it.

_Whatever had inspired the laughter disappeared, and a huge weight pressed down on my chest and stomach, and I suddenly wanted to cry, but I was fifteen years old. Still, when Uncle Percy reached over and ruffled my hair -- Mum always did that -- I took a huge gulp of air. _Both of them. Both of them. Both of them. _My mind kept repeating it, and I just couldn't believe it. Dad got sick... and Mum died the same night that he did. _

_I wasn't aware of the rest of the funeral. Someone else got up to talk, but I didn't hear a word. We were going to go live with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione now; we'd stay with them over school holidays. The home in Godric's Hollow was still there, but I hadn't gone back since the night I lost both my parents in such a sudden, stupid way, and I didn't care if I never saw it again. After what felt like forever and yet seemed like no time at all, Uncle Ron tapped me on the shoulder._

_"It's time," he said. His eyes were wet._

_They had lifted the Restriction on Underage Magic -- it helped that our Aunt Audrey was the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic -- just for us. Uncle Ron had asked us yesterday if we could be the ones to bear the coffins up. "Your parents... they would've wanted it to be people who loved them," he'd said. I didn't think he realized that tears were tracking down his face. Before this week, I'd never seen him cry. _

_James and Lily and I stood up with Uncle Percy, Sirius Black, and Remus and Dora Lupin. _

_James sucked in a breath when he noticed the two rows of red-headed people at the back. "What are _they _doing here?" he asked resentfully, incredulously. I knew exactly what he was feeling. Our Weasley relatives had never made a sign of attempting to be in our life; how _dare _they show up? Rage boiled up in my veins when I saw the oldest woman, obviously my grandmother, sitting with her head bowed and a handkerchief pressed to her face. I'd never seen her in my life, and she decided to show up now? _

_"Easy there," Uncle Ron murmured. "Just ignore them."_

_Easier said than done, but once I tore my eyes away from them, I caught my breath at the sight of the coffins inlaid with a large, complex rune that sparkled in the sunlight and wavered in front of my eyes. We levitated them together, and my tears finally fell._

"Al?" a soft voice. I gradually became aware that I was not alone. Someone held my hand and stroked it.

It was Emily Wilder, who had been my best friend since we both had been sorted into Slytherin, and we'd both felt like we didn't really belong. A Potter and a Muggleborn. My new memories had no scene of horrific rejection on either side; this was Emmy. My best friend. And I'd been in love with her for years, but I'd never acted on it. What if I'd screwed things up? What if I lost her friendship which meant more to me than anything else? What if she wasn't there for me... what if she left and I never heard the sound of her voice again?

Amidst the despair, I was a bit amazed at myself. Would I ever get this right?

"Where am I?" I croaked.

"St. Mungo's," she said hesitantly.

My entire body twitched -- _St. Mungo's, where Mum and Dad died_. Apparently I had developed a phobia of the hospital... even now, my heart raced frantically in my chest. "My Mum is dead," I said stupidly.

She drew back a little. "I know," she said. Concern sharpened her voice. Despite everything, I almost smiled. My Emmy was as much as a wise arse as I was. "Are you feeling all right? The Healers haven't had any idea what's wrong with you, but you... you haven't been responding to _anything_."

I tested moving my arms, and discovered a warm weight; Emmy was holding my hand in a very tight grip.

"'M a little confused," I admitted. It wasn't anything less than the truth. I felt dreamy, as though I was floating high above my body. It made it difficult for the pain of failure. "I wonder why I haven't caused a worldwide economic collapse," I said. My eyeballs seemed to throb, but the hurt and disbelief that I knew were there were a distant thing, as though they were trapped behind a dam. I grinned. Emmy's hand twitched in my grasp. "Do you know why my mum died?"

She was silent for a long time. "I thought you had no desire to hear about that," she said finally. "Whenever I try to talk to you about my research, you get so... angry."

My head was spinning, and I felt as though the bed I was on was a little boat... like the one I had conjured for Wormtail and Rookwood... and I was out in the middle of the sea, and the sun was warm on my face... but there were hideous clouds on the horizon. A storm was coming, but I couldn't move and couldn't seem to care. "'M sorry," I mumbled. My tongue felt about three times its normal size.

"Well..." she said. "Are you sure you want to hear this now? The Healer just gave you a potion"--that explained it--"and you may not be... fully yourself."

I squeezed her hand. "Please."

"Well, I think it had to do with the rune that your dad made a long time ago," she said. She was using her 'Unspeakable' voice. I blinked. It was a strange feeling, knowing that our friendship had lasted so long and so well that I knew her patterns of speech and gestures so well that I'd invented names for them. "He did a charm when he meant to die. And since Voldemort tried to hit your mum and kill her and it rebounded back to him... well, none of us has any idea what their connection was, but I think it's pretty obvious that it didn't allow your mum to live if your dad was dead."

Her words slipped over me like water, and I simply couldn't grasp them. All I could think about was the sound of her voice, and how she didn't sound hostile or on edge or tentative. The storm loomed, but for now I was on my little boat in the middle of the sea, and the waves were gentle for now, like her voice...

_"I have something special for you for your sixth birthday," said Dad. He beamed at me._

_"Is it my very own Invisibility Cloak?" I asked eagerly. Dad's was my favorite thing in the world. I loved the sensation of being hidden; I could do anything I wanted, though I generally followed Dad around or James and jumped out at them. I never tired of seeing them jump. _

_Dad chuckled. "Not yet. Maybe when you're older. Like thirty."_

_I would just keep taking Dad's, then, I decided. I didn't tell him this, though._

_"You might be too little for this," he said. He sounded unsure._

_I puffed out my chest. "I'm a big boy, you keep saying so," I reminded him. And he did. Whenever he tossed me up in the air, he always called me his big boy. And Mum always said that I was growing up too fast, and that she wouldn't have minded if I could've been little for a while longer. Besides, James was a big boy. _

_He reached into his pocket and withdrew a shiny silver object. It glinted in the light that shone through the window to my bedroom. "This is a rune, and it means love, Al," he explained. I was a little confused. How could these squiggly lines mean love. He must've seen the look on my face, because he reached over and brushed the fringe away from my face. "See all these lines?" And slowly, he drew pictures for me in the silver. I saw an Invisibility Cloak, because he said that he thought of how I always wanted to wear it. And I could see even my eyes, because he said that I had Grandma Potter's eyes, and he was glad that I had them too. _

_I still didn't understand, though, not really._

_"I'll tell you the entire story when you're a bit older, son," he said. "But one time, I wanted to make these for everyone that I loved. And it was really special." He wasn't really looking at me when he said this. He was staring at something very far away out the window, and even though I craned my neck, I couldn't see it. He caught me, and smiled. "That was a long time ago, but I guess I've sort of gotten into the habit of making them for people."_

_"Thanks, Dad," I said. Now that I thought about it, I knew that James had one. And Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione did too. And sometimes they all wore them on the same day. I couldn't wait to wear mine..._

The storm could wait for just a little while longer.


	31. The Shed Again

22 September 2028

The worst part about leaving St. Mungo's was the fact that the potion they'd given me would no longer be available. And yeah, I'd already asked how to make it. Unfortunately, the ingredients and instructions were kept from the public (I'd just wanted to know. For reference. Yeah.) because it was apparently highly addictive. _I hope I'm best friends with Emmy again, _I thought. She'd been the one who had not trusted the owl I'd sent Uncle Ron the first month I'd been gone. She was an Unspeakable as well, and she would have the authority to find out if I was doing Unspeakable things.

She'd hunted me down in my apartment (I had some pretty scary wards, thanks to Aunt Hermione's paranoia, even after all these years), and found my in my catatonic state. My non-responsive ass had been dragged to St. Mungo's, where I had had the best rejoining-the-time-stream experience I'd had yet. I had many reasons to be grateful for her existence, but this was in the top ten.

I'd been given a respite.

I stood alone just outside the entrance to the hospital. I didn't want company. Even in my floating state, with happy spiders merrily spinning cobwebs that protected my mind, I could hardly look at Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, or my siblings. Somewhere behind the dam, I was seething.

I leaned up against the wall; I was suddenly breathing heavily and my heart was racing as though I had run a race rather than walked outside. I hoped that stupid journalists weren't watching me -- my illness, according to Aunt Hermione, had been a very hot topic the last few months. Mum and Dad's fame had trickled down to me. I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, wand hung loosely in my fingertips.

_My accidental magic had come on full force and one day when I was seven, I had turned James into an ass, ears and all. I couldn't remember being more delighted, and it took Dad a few minutes to put him right again._

_"Al, you need to tell your brother you're sorry," Mum said sternly. This struck me as unfair. I hadn't done it _on purpose, _had I? It had been a complete accident. And yeah, it had happened just after James had pulled the carpet out from under my feet and I'd fallen right on my bum, but wasn't that just a happy coincidence?_

_James apparently thought differently. "All he has to do is say he's sorry?" he said, outraged. He was still braying a little. He glared angrily at me, and his expression further darkened when he saw my smile. "He thinks it's funny! If it had been _me_, I would've been grounded for a month. 'You're to set a good example for your brother and sister,'" he said in an uncanny imitation of Mum. "'You're the oldest. You're supposed to be responsible.'"_

_"James," Dad said warningly._

_"Look at him!" James said loudly, pointing at me. I stopped smiling immediately. "He thinks it's funny. And you two do too! But if I turned Lily into a monkey or a - a - a panda bear, I'd get my broomstick taken away--"_

_"Give it a rest, James," Mum said. "It was accidental magic."_

_I could tell that James was dying to say something further. But, for one, Mum's tone meant business. And for two, if he acknowledged that he could control it, he'd have a lot harder a time getting out of things. I smirked at him when Mum and Dad turned away again._

_"Al, I want you to apologize," Dad said sternly. "You're not to turn your brother into an ass."_

_"And I want you two to hug each other and make up," Mum added._

_James gaped and turned bright red with fury. I wasn't too happy myself with what I considered a cruel and unusual punishment. "Why am I being punished, too?!" he cried. A hee-haw escaped him right after, and he turned purple._

_"The two of you are brothers," Dad said. "And I'll not have you fighting. You love each other; now act like it."_

And yet they'd never forgiven their family. I knew it was a deeper hurt than that. I knew it. I had two lifetimes worth of memories with the fact that my Weasley relatives -- besides Uncle Ron and Uncle Percy -- had created a chasm too deep to be breached. It wasn't a stupid little thing like turning James into an ass (which we laughed about now); but my childhood (all of them) were punctuated with little scenes like that, with both Mum and Dad quite firm about teaching us how to love each other.

But who was I to judge them when I was such a spectacular failure?

Without even thinking about it, I shoved myself off the wall, whirled on the spot, and went to the one place where I'd been able to get advice that I'd never, ever question. I didn't care that he was gone. I didn't care that he wouldn't be my Granddad Weasley, even if he'd survived Nagini in the Department of Mysteries. It felt like I'd lived a hundred years since the last time I'd been here (and in a way, I had, though it had been the same years every time).

The Burrow was familiar as the home in Godric's Hollow, or Grimmauld Place, even though a part of me had never been here before. The country lane was quiet and dusty and the sunset gave it almost a surreally beautiful look. The trees in the orchard were alive with color, and smoke billowed into the air and was dark against the deep blue of the sky. It felt like a home away from home, and yet... it felt wrong, too, since my body and part of me remembered resenting the people who lived here.

I marched right up the path.

It was old and hadn't been used, though when I opened the door to Granddad's shed, the hinges didn't squeak.

I suspected that Grandma or one of my uncles had maintained it. The shelves were free of dust and the Muggle appliances were as clean as though Granddad had just put them away. I reached out and picked up a coffee maker. It was almost as though I was back on the potion; I seemed to be floating above myself. And the same impulse that had driven me to howl with laughter made me drop it on the floor. It shattered into a million pieces, and the sound was so satisfying that I reached out for more fragile appliances.

_My family hates each other._

A blender smashed against the empty table.

_My fault._

I used my wand to shred a phone book. Little pieces of paper rained down on me.

_Mum is dead._

"_Expulso," _I blew up the shelf opposite me. The shed quaked and trembled.

_Mum is dead, my family hates each other, and it's completely my fault. But if they'd just bloody forgiven them..._

The door creaked open, and there was a quick inhale of breath. "Mum was right," said Uncle Fred in a tone of great disbelief. "It _is _one of the Potter boys... do you think he's gone mad?"

I wondered what a Bludgeoning Hex would do against a tea set. I found out. It made it come apart rather spectacularly. "And you're one to talk, Uncle Fred," I heard myself say. I kept my back to him and whoever else was there. "From what I hear, you did quite a bit of blowing things up in your youth."

I realized that I'd been expecting this, hoping for it even. I wanted to talk to them, but I didn't know how, and maybe they'd force me to since I'd destroyed Granddad's shed. I shuffled my feet a little and the broken glass and china crunched beneath my feet. Now that the moment of rage had passed, I felt small and stupid, like I was a two year old throwing a temper tantrum. But I hadn't had anywhere else to put the anger, and I hated the helpless, out of control feeling.

"I think he's the younger one," Uncle Bill murmured. "Louis would know... any of the kids would; they went to school together."

"And it's been all over the _Prophet_ that he's been ill," said Uncle Fred. Even though I couldn't exactly blame them for doubting my sanity (Merlin knows that I've doubted it often enough), it rankled that they were talking about me as though I weren't there. I turned around.

"I'm standing right here, you know," I said.

"It's Albus," Uncle Fred confirmed, squinting at me. "He's got those eyes."

"All right," Uncle Bill nodded sharply. He reached out a hand soothingly toward me, as though I was a wild animal he was trying to tame. This irritated me. "Albus, why don't you come with us, and we'll make you a pot of tea." He appeared to think that I was about three. And in need of being forced to drink large quantities of tea.

"Don't call me Albus," I said darkly. It seemed wrong that my uncle of all people had no idea that I'd always gone by Al. Just Al. "Just call me Al." I pushed by them, realizing that I was sending my sanity into further doubt, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I marched through the back yard; they followed behind me, murmuring to each other, though I couldn't make out what they were saying. I was both surprised and gratified that they had allowed me to keep my wand.

There was movement in the kitchen. The curtains fluttered, and a shadow moved. And then Grandma opened the door to the Burrow, shock plainly written on her face. I had spent this lifetime and the last resenting her. She'd been a villain in a sad tale -- though, to be fair to my parents, they'd never spoken of my other Weasley relatives with hatred. But Mum and Dad been heroes, and they'd been grossly misunderstood. Grandma and the others had practically led the way to make their lives difficult, and to force them into hiding.

But I remembered the Grandma from my first life, who'd been warm and smelled like cookies. She'd loved us all very much, and she'd treated Dad the way she'd treated the rest of her sons, because she hadn't differentiated between them. And I also remembered that I'd once caused her death; Molly Weasley had burned alive in what was probably the worst and most painful way to die. Anger, grief, and guilt were all balled up together in my belly; a part of me still couldn't believe that I'd been able to break the love they used to feel for each other.

It shouldn't have been so fragile.

"Albus?" she said.

"Why couldn't you ever forgive them?"


	32. Prodigal Family

22 September 2028

"Why couldn't you forgive them?"

My voice cracked and I sounded like a child. I wanted to kick myself. Her eyes widened, and she drew her breath in sharply.

"Is that what you've been told?" Uncle Fred asked incredulously. "That _we _didn't forgive _them_?" His reply was so quick and so honest that I couldn't help but believe him. I searched my memory. Had I ever been told that the other Weasleys had approached them and been turned away? The thought made me slightly ill. I was uncomfortable with the discoveries that I had made in my travels. I didn't like a world where Mum and Dad and Uncle Ron had stopped loving people they had once loved fiercely.

"You... you tried to apologize then?" My throat was as dry as the leaves that crunched beneath my feet.

"For _what_?" The words exploded from Uncle Bill. I gaped at him, astonished. He was usually quite laid back. "Potter was a hero, I'll give him that."

"We wouldn't ever say that your father didn't defeat You-Know-Who," Uncle Fred said. He sounded far too serious, and the fact that he didn't use Voldemort's true name was bruising. "But I'll be the first person to say that I didn't agree with his method."

A very long time ago in my very first lifetime before Dad had died, an old professor had remarked on the fact that being stubborn and having resilient pride were traits that ran strong in the Weasleys. I'd been proud of that; Dad had always said that there were worse things than being tenacious. But now I was confronted with the darker side of this. Both my uncles had mulish looks on their faces -- Merlin knows how many times I'd seen it on James or in the mirror -- and I was suddenly infuriated--

"Fred," Grandma said quietly. "Albus, why don't you come in and have a spot of tea? I've already set the water boiling. I read in the papers that you've been ill; are you all right?"

"Call me Al," I said through gritted teeth. But I followed her. The kitchen was strange and familiar; Grandma had made me countless cups of tea, but it was also a first. I hadn't been quite so confused before. I hadn't had memories warring with each other after any other jump, though I had to admit that I'd been fairly insulated. I hadn't quite been confronted in this way after them. Even Emmy... I'd gone from being rejected by her, to rejecting her... there'd always been a break. But this time, with Emmy Wilder firmly in place as my best friend (though that hurt in different ways), the closeness felt right.

And this felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

"We were always a bit afraid of your father," Grandma said. "I don't know if you know this -- but there was an article"--I resisted the urge to laugh--"and it warned us about him. And then... when he became such good friends with -- with R-Ron and Ginny," her voice wobbled. I wondered how long it had been since she'd spoken to Uncle Ron, and if she'd spoken to Mum at all after Voldemort's defeat. It had been years and years, at least. "We were wary, but then your mother and father got very close--"

"--far too close for the age they were," Uncle Fred said.

I furrowed my brow. _But they were married_.

Uncle Bill took my expression to mean that I didn't understand where he was going with this. I wondered if he thought Louis was this naive; Louis was almost as bad as James. "They were caught -- er -- being _close_, sexually, when Ginny was only twelve."

"But..."

"You can't really understand how horrific that kind of scene is for a parent," Uncle Fred said. "If some boy did that with either of my daughters, I probably wouldn't have been as nice as Dad was."

"But--"

"It didn't help that everything they did was so shrouded in secrecy," Grandma said. She didn't sound bitter, not really; she sounded resigned, though I suspected there was a deep well of grief inside her. I was beginning to have a nasty suspicion. "You know we don't even know all of the details about how he even defeated You-Know-Who?"

"The most anyone who was there has ever said about it is that he had a curse rebounded onto him," said Uncle Bill. "And that your mother had something to do with it."

I gaped at them. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to remember what I had been told in this lifetime about Dad's victory. They'd fought their battle. Dad had taken the Killing Curse... the rune he had made for those he loved -- and there had been precious few of them there that day -- had flared up in such a way that I still didn't understand. They didn't appear to know anything. They didn't know about the Horcrux inside Dad. They didn't know that Dad had sort of died and returned; and they had no clue that Dad's sacrifice had caused the Killing Curse to rebound because he couldn't hurt Mum. I had a feeling that if they'd really, truly known how much Dad loved Mum, they wouldn't be so concerned, even now.

_They don't know about the Tears of Merlin_.

But Dad... I think that he wanted to tell them in the end.

_He lay against the pillow; he was pale and gaunt and when he drew in a breath, his chest rattled. I couldn't ignore the fact that it was the end, and I wanted to turn and run out of the room because I didn't think I could do it. I didn't think I could watch him die. How could I? It wasn't right. It shouldn't be happening; the Healers should have done something._

_I stood frozen, barely breathing. No matter how much I yearned to flee, my feet wouldn't move. _

_"Ginny," Dad whispered in a hoarse voice. He'd already said goodbye to all of us. But he was growing agitated. I watched his fingers grasp at the bedclothes, even though he was too weak to grip them. "Bright Eyes. Want... your family. Molly... Arthur... all of them..."_

It was one of the last things he'd said. And now it was nearly a decade later, but it might not even be too late...

"You should ask the rest of the family to come here," I murmured. "Just the adults. My aunts and uncles."

I think if they had known me better, they would have refused. They would have asked me what the hell was going on. But that was the point. They didn't know me. And I think they were a bit concerned by my apparent insanity. Uncle Fred and Uncle Bill exchanged a long look. Grandma bustled behind me and placed a fresh cup of tea on the table. I heaved a sigh of relief when Uncle Fred knelt down and called Uncle George through the Floo.

"Albus Potter is here, George," he said. I couldn't hear what Uncle George said in return, of course, but Uncle Fred suddenly sounded defensive. "I'm not lying. Would I lie about something like this? Or even joke? He... he wants the rest of the family here. Not the kids, though. Could you get Mary and bring Angelina?"

"I don't know how we're going to get Charlie here," Uncle Bill said. "He's still in Romania."

Despite myself, I felt a little uncurling of warmth. _I hope Uncle Ron isn't too angry_, I thought.

I sipped my tea to calm my nerves. Uncle George and Aunt Angelina arrived first. Aunt Mary arrived on their heels; I think all three of them were surprised to find that I was actually in the kitchen. "I'll be damned," Uncle George let out a low whistle. He gaped at me. Something about his utter shock steadied me; therefore I was able to maintain my cool when Uncle Percy stepped out of the fire and brushed himself off.

"What's going on, Al?" he asked. He adjusted his glasses; somehow, despite his obvious surprise and confusion, he managed to maintain an aura of efficiency and competence. I was a bit jealous, and that brought out the devil.

"Just getting to know my family," I said casually. "My family who knows remarkably little about a lot of things."

"Now wait just a--"

"What the hell is he--"

"Honestly, Al, was that really necessary? You--"

I maintained eye contact with my godfather. I slowly drew my wand. "_Expecto Patronum_," I said, thinking of a distant memory of happiness. My Patronus erupted from the end of my wand. "Go tell Uncle Ron this: 'I'm being held hostage at the Burrow. Come rescue me!'" I reached out and stroked the silvery creature, and felt a warmth suffuse my limbs. Then it bounded away and leapt through the window, disappearing into the gathering twilight. "That should get him here," I said.

"I can't believe he just did that," Uncle George said in an awed voice.

"I can," Uncle Bill said. "He already destroyed Dad's shed."

"Al can be very dramatic sometimes," said Uncle Percy, to my annoyance.

"Do you -- do you really think he'll come?" Grandma said. She had her hand over her heart, and her chin trembled. "Which way do you think he'll come from? Do you think he remembers that we use the back door for -- for family? Is he--" but she seemed unable to continue. She patted her hair down, stumbled over to the door, and wrenched it open. There was a moment of trembling silence, then--

"He'd better come," Uncle Bill growled, and he followed his mother out the door; everyone else was right behind him, and in moments, Uncle Percy and I were alone in the kitchen.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Uncle Percy said. He pinched his nose.

I grimaced, and followed my family out the door without answering. I had no clue what I was doing; I was sort of playing it by ear. But I needed to know if the rift could be healed somehow, and this seemed like the only way to do it. My wand still hung loose at my side, but I was prepared to do what must be done. I stood a little in front of them.

"He hasn't been here since the day after that row we had," Grandma said jerkily.

"That's not true," I said absently. "He came with Mum and Dad and Dumbledore to set up the blood wards."

Uncle Bill let out a whooshing breath. "That _was _them," he said in wonder. "I can't believe I'd forgotten after all these years..."

"Three decades," Uncle George said. "Merlin, I can't believe it's been that long."

I had never thought of Apparition to be particularly dramatic. But the two pops sounded like the crack of a whip; and when they appeared side by side, everyone seemed to hold their breath. Even me, and I'd seen them about four hours ago. Uncle Ron did not betray any hint of apprehension or weirdness at returning to the Burrow from his three decade long voluntary exile. His back was straight; his strides were long, and Grandma made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief.

He stopped when he was about ten feet away. He looked me over from head to foot in a cursory manner, checking to make sure that I was not a hostage after all. He did not seem very surprised. And then he let his gaze wander over the Burrow; he seemed to be drinking in the sight of it, and his fingers convulsed around Aunt Hermione's.

"You have some explaining to do, Al," she said gently. She smiled vaguely at the rest of the family, but she mostly kept her eyes fixed on me. I couldn't read them.

I shrugged. "I might. But I'm not the only one. You need to tell them about the Tears of Merlin, Uncle Ron."


	33. Long Lost

22 September 2028

Uncle Ron flinched, and his gaze flew to his mother's face. I turned; she stared at her son blankly. I'd been sort of hoping that once she heard the words, her face would immediately light with comprehension and she would throw herself at Uncle Ron and ask him to forgive her. He would grant it, of course, and then I could step in and ask them what I could do mend it. But I'd learned a thing or two about human nature in my travels, and it was an empty hope.

It was a nice little fantasy, though, and it gave me the courage to open my mouth again, even though Aunt Hermione stared at me with a look of utter horror on her face. "Why didn't you tell them before? They would've understood everything!"

"Apparently we know nothing," Uncle Fred muttered. "That's what Albus said, the little blighter."

"Don't call him a blighter, Fred," Uncle Ron said loudly. I found this slightly rich coming from him; his nicknames for his nephews were all along the lines of 'blighter,' 'bugger,' and 'wanker.'

"I'm not Fred," Uncle Fred lied, pointing at George. "He is."

"Nice try," Uncle Ron said dryly. I thought I saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his face.

"It's been a long time," Uncle Fred said quietly. He tried to sound flippant, but he wasn't very successful. He tightened his arm around Aunt Mary's shoulders. "Didn't know if you could still tell us apart."

A sudden quiet fell over us. It felt unnatural and wrong. The Weasleys were loud and boisterous, not silent and nervous. Not around each other. My breath hitched in my throat. We stood for long moments while the sky darkened further. It was a strange array. Grandma and the others stood in a half circle behind me; Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione stood side by side in front of me. I shuffled my feet, feeling as though I stood in no man's land between two enemies who were about to open fire.

"I haven't forgotten how," Uncle Ron finally admitted.

I watched them and began to understand where I got my stalling tactics from. At least I had come by it honestly, though it was a bit frustrating to be the observer. Dad used to say that sometimes things were too big for words; I wished that this wasn't one of those times, because I felt like I was about to explode from the tension and anticipation. I didn't like how Uncle Ron looked almost frightened.

Help came from an unexpected quarter.

"I think this has been a long time coming," Uncle Percy announced in a waspish voice. "Honestly, Ron, how many times have I asked you to just... do this?" he walked forward a few steps until he stood beside me. Aunt Audrey followed him. "And how many times have I asked the rest of you to just swallow your pride and talk to them?" I felt like cheering. I remembered, with disbelief, that I used to think that I'd gotten the short end of the stick when it came to godfathers. He drew himself up to his full height and laid a hand on my shoulder. "My godson has the right of it," he said rather pompously.

"That really isn't your decision to make," Uncle Ron said in a hard voice. "Either of you." But he made no move to leave. I breathed out through my nose.

"I'm going to go home and get the pensieve," Aunt Hermione said. Uncle Ron whirled on her as though betrayed. She patted his arm. "Don't look at me like that, Ronald, this is happening."

"We could always Obliviate them," Uncle Ron said grumpily. It was an empty threat. Part of me had grown up with a lot of anti-memory charm sentiment. I realized with a jolt that they'd found out that Albus and Severus had been Obliviated... that on top of Dad's incident with Gilderoy Lockhart down in the Chamber of Secrets had given him a strong aversion to forgetting things. I delved further into my memories, suddenly curious, and was shocked to realize that Sirius Black had broken into Azkaban to retrieve Rookwood six months after I'd put him back in. And he'd died during questioning because of the Unbreakable Vow I'd made him swear--

"Al?" Uncle Percy's voice. "Are you all right? What's so funny?"

I covered my mouth, a bit horrified to find that I was chuckling, and everyone was staring at me. But I'd rather embarrass myself by laughing in front of them instead of crying. "I put a Cheering Charm on myself," I lied in what I hoped was a convincing way. Little snorts of laughter just kept escaping. But honestly... _they'd actually broken him out of Azkaban! _After the trouble I'd gone to to put him back in! I had no idea who was chasing who through time any more.

"He's been ill," Aunt Audrey said. I barely noticed when Aunt Hermione disappeared, though I was aware that a pensieve was on its way to me. I remembered how I'd practically slobbered over Uncle Percy's neat and tidy collection of memories, and realized that I'd become quite addicted to time travel.

The calm, rational, and deeply buried part of myself began to take over. The urge to chortle died down, and a plan blossomed fully formed in my head as though it had been magically planted. Dad's voice echoed through the years: "You've always got to move forward with purpose, Al," he used to say. It was more like I was moving backward with purpose, but it amounted to the same thing. If there was any way to heal my family, I was going to try to do it. And I had to pull myself together; things would be much smoother if they didn't think I was insane.

"I'm sorry," I opened my eyes wide, and tried to look sheepish. "They gave me a very strange potion at St. Mungo's... It's making me feel odd."

"That's putting it mildly," Uncle Ron said under his breath. He looked like he had indigestion. He kept his back straight, and his feet firmly planted, but his ears were bright red, and about a thousand different expressions crossed his face at once. He blinked his eyes, his mouth twitched in a grimace and then pressed flat, and he rubbed at his long nose about once every ten seconds. "Al... why are you doing this?"

"I have to," I said softly. "Grandma, can we go inside? This is going to take a while."

She nodded jerkily. We all filed silently into the Burrow. Uncle Ron was the last; his steps were hesitant, and his face was naked in his disbelief. "Your father told me once that you'd find your way home again," she said so softly that I almost couldn't hear. "After you and Ginny left... he promised that you'd come back."

There was a flash of anger in Uncle Ron's eyes. "I wouldn't have left if you hadn't practically pushed me out," he said in a voice that was almost cruel. "Neither one of us wanted to leave, but you just wouldn't listen to us."

Grandma flared up at once. "What were we supposed to think, Ron? Yes, we were wrong, and I'm sorry for that, but he kept dragging you into darkness--"

"Harry never forced us to do anything," Uncle Ron said fiercely. I marveled at how little it took for old wounds to bleed anew. "Merlin, I can't believe how blind you still are. You wondered why we didn't tell them, Al?" he gestured at his family. "This is exactly the reason. Harry took the Cruciatus Curse for Percy. He saved Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets. He defeated Voldemort, thinking for _years _that he was going to have to die in order to do so. And that's just all the shit that they know about. And they _still _have the nerve to accuse your dad of dragging us along with him."

Aunt Hermione knocked on the open door, looking slightly apprehensive. She carried the pensieve tucked under her arm. I eyed it, hardly able to believe that I'd be leaving again tonight.

"They didn't know that Dad had to take the Killing Curse again," I pointed out fairly. There were murmurs behind me.

"I'm sorry that you can't put yourself in our shoes," Grandma said defiantly. Her chin jutted out and it only trembled a little. The lines around her eyes were white, and her lips were compressed together. I was a bit amazed that she hadn't started yelling yet. "But you just can't imagine how _bitter _it was to watch you choose him over your family. And don't try to tell me that he didn't influence you. Don't think I didn't hear what happened at Azkaban -- we aren't stupid, we know that the slaughter was at your hands. And you were what? Sixteen? What was the price you had to pay to win at all costs? Your childhood?"

"I told you, Mum, they thought I was dead," Uncle Percy said, shaken.

"Those Death Eaters were killed in ways that I don't even want to think about!" Grandma said. "You're hero, Ron, I'm not saying that you aren't, but I doubted his methods then, and I still do. How did you--"

"Tell her," I said urgently.

"It's easy for you to talk," Uncle Ron said angrily. "You were nice and safe, weren't you? Stayed out of the fighting. You didn't have to get your hands bloody; you were here at home, judging us for getting the job done with as low a cost of human life on our side as possible."

This was not going well. They were too angry, too brittle, and I had the sick feeling that a part of Uncle Ron was dragging this out on purpose, because he knew that the angrier his mother got, the more the truth would be a slap in the face. And I understood, I really did, but I also knew there was a part of him who hadn't forgotten that he'd come back to save her and the rest, because he'd reckoned that losing his entire family had been too high a price. It was just such a shock to realize that he'd lost them after all. "Isn't that what you wanted?" I asked. "You wanted her to be safe, didn't you? Instead of torn apart by a werewolf? Or did you want her to die again?"

Uncle Ron recoiled as though I'd slapped him.

"He's right," Aunt Hermione said firmly. "I've told you that for years."

"You don't understand the depth of their betrayal," Uncle Ron said, though his words lacked heat. His hands were shaking. "Even now... thinking about it makes me feel like I've swallowed acid."

"What the hell is going on?" Uncle Bill said.

I sort of felt like bracing myself for what was coming. I had no idea what would happen, but I knew the situation had the potential to explode. It bothered me a great deal that this had stayed a secret for so long. Yet I understood. How could I not? I'd seen so many different futures, that I had a strange perspective. Uncle Ron had two different views of his family and they were vastly different. His mother had once fought and died at his side, and yet there was another Molly Weasley who had not been a surrogate mother to Dad. I knew that the two vastly different outcomes must be jarring.

"Mum, Dad, and Uncle Ron used the Tears of Merlin," I said.

"It's a form of time travel," Uncle Ron said in a raspy voice. He glared defiantly at his mother. "You were right that we weren't children. But you were wrong that Harry"--his lips twisted in a pained grimace--"somehow stole our childhoods."

"And you expect us to just believe this?" Uncle Bill said incredulously.

"Let's hear him out, Bill," Uncle George said suddenly.

"He's telling the truth," Uncle Percy said. "He and Harry and Ginny sent their memories back to their bodies on the first of September, 1991."

"No," Grandma whispered. "No, that's impossible." She shook her head and backed away. Aunt Hermione followed her.

"Can you think of a better reason for why your children didn't come back to you at the end of the war?" she said coldly. "They sacrificed everything to save us; open your eyes, Mrs. Weasley." She set the pensieve down on the table. "Give them memories, Ron. Show them the way you showed me."

Uncle Ron sighed heavily and put his wand to his head, pulling out several strands of memories. He dropped it in the bowl. "We're never going to be a family again," he said. "I'm going to walk out that door again, and I'm not going to come back, Mum. I can't ever forgive you... you have no idea what it was like to raise my own children and watch them. I couldn't imagine deciding one day that they'd turned evil and wrong. I'm giving you this truth because I have to, thanks to Al. And because you do deserve to know why I never came home, why it hurt too much, and why I can't really even look at you because I wish you were someone else."

I winced. Uncle Percy pressed his hands to his eyes, glasses and all. Grandma looked as though she'd taken a blow to the stomach.

And when she emerged from the pensieve ten minutes later, she was white with fury. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!" she shouted. She sounded quite undone. My uncles looked as though they wanted to start screaming too.

"You _asshole_," Uncle Bill hissed. "You didn't even give us a chance!"

"Oh, you wanted us to give you a chance?" Uncle Ron said. His voice dripped with horrible sarcasm, and his lip was curled in a sneer that was quite ugly on his face. "I can't believe you're whinging about not being given a _fucking chance_. I can't believe you have the bloody nerve, Bill. All of you were deliberately blind."

"AND YOU WERE A LIAR!" Grandma shrieked. "YOU LIED TO US FOR YEARS! DON'T YOU DARE STAND THERE AND PUT ALL THE BLAME ON OUR SHOULDERS!"

"Where does it belong, Mum?" Uncle Ron asked snidely. "On Harry's? He was such convenient scapegoat after all. Did you know that it was _his _idea to come back in the first place? And you know what? You didn't bloody deserve it."

Grandma's entire body sagged, but so did Uncle Ron's. Both of them seemed shocked beyond measure at the words that had just come out of his mouth. The implication was clear: Ron had just said that his mother didn't deserve to be alive. His hands shook as he rumpled his hair.

"_Ron_," Aunt Hermione said belatedly.

My breath was uneven. I couldn't stand it anymore--

"I have to tell you something," I said.


	34. Truth Askew

22 September 2028

Everyone gave me their full attention, as though relieved to have the ugly scene over with. Aunt Hermione placed her hand on Uncle Ron's arm and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. My stomach churned, but I pushed my nerves aside. I couldn't afford to exude anything other than confidence; I was already on shaky ground after my display in the shed and breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. "I need to tell you something," I repeated. "And we've got to go to Godric's Hollow to do it. We can use the Floo to go to Mum and Dad's house, and we can leave from there." I didn't wait for any of them to reply or to try to stop me. I grabbed the now empty pensieve. It was a familiar weight under my arm.

I grabbed the Floo powder off the shelf, stepped into the flames, and said "Potter Cottage!"

It was dark and musty and the moment I arrived I wanted to leave. I didn't waste any time, but strode through the living room, pulled open the door, and stepped out into the night. The ghosts of Mum and Dad were too present for me to feel easy with being in their old house. I hopped down the steps, and looked up at the dark sky. Stars were already appearing. _Forward with purpose._ For the first time since I'd returned to 2028, the cobwebs in my mind had totally cleared away. The display of corrosive anger had shaken it away, and I knew precisely what I was going to do.

And I only felt the tiniest bit guilty.

I wasn't surprised when I heard their footsteps. Uncle Ron cleared his throat. "This is important," I said firmly, before he could say anything. I breathed in and out, slow and even. The unsettling feeling of dueling memories had faded, and I felt a great sense of clarity. I waited until the shuffling footsteps stopped. I didn't turn around, but I knew they were all there. Despite the ugly scene in the kitchen, I knew that they wouldn't turn me away.

I led them to the old house. It looked just the same; the sign went up as soon as I opened the fence, and the hole in the second floor gaped open. I didn't pause, but I opened the door and entered. Before the inevitable questions started, I pounded up the stairs and up to my grandparents' bedroom.

"Al--"

I held up my hand, whispered an incantation, and reached under the bed. The soft, silky Invisibility Cloak was still there, and Aunt Hermione gasped loudly when I pulled it out. I turned to face her. "Do you remember the day I took this?" I asked quietly. "You and Dad and Neville sat by the lake; you were trying to get him to tell you his secret. And then Uncle Ron warned you guys about Wormtail coming; he sent his Patronus with a warning. You meant to capture him, but the dementors came, and you were having trouble fighting them off. I helped you, and dragged Wormtail away." She stared at me, uncomprehending. I held up my hand and showed her my palm. "Foci Memoria," I said simply.

She sat down on the bed with a sigh.

"Al?" Uncle Ron said uncertainly.

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "There is another prophecy," I lied. His mouth gaped open. "My illness wasn't an illness at all, but was my memories catching up to my body." My other Weasley relatives were still and silent. I couldn't tell if they believed me or not.

"You..." Uncle Ron whispered. He seemed unable to argue with the proof I held in my hands. "But -- another prophecy? What is it?"

I shook my head. "I can't tell you," I tried to sound regretful. "I swore an Unbreakable Vow, just like Rookwood did. I can't tell you the wording of my prophecy." I really wished that I'd been able to think this through fully, though they appeared to be buying it. It helped that they'd run into this kind of situation before. "I can't even tell you who I swore it with."

"Can you tell us anything?" Aunt Hermione asked. She sounded a bit suspicious.

"It has to do with the Cornerstones of Fate," I said firmly. Her eyes widened.

"But why do you have to go to the past?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "What does the past have to do with you?"

"What people don't know about the Cornerstones of Fate is that they can be manipulated," I said. I felt more confident. "And if they're skewed, it has repercussions for the future. Imagine if the foundation of a house is built crookedly," I continued. "And it isn't noticed for years and years. Everything that comes after just gets more and more unstable the more time passes." I was glad that I had just visited the Burrow. It proved to be inspirational. "I'm sorry I have to be so vague," I lied. "But I can tell you this -- sometimes it is up to the future to change the past. You should know this, Uncle Ron."

"I do, but..."

"The fact of the matter is that I'm alone in this," I said. "Completely alone. That's the way it's got to be." I tried to sound grim and purposeful, as I imagined Dad had. I tilted my head. "You can try to lock me up and protect me," I said. "But the prophecy hasn't been fulfilled. And prophecy can't be averted. Ever." My voice rang with truth.

"If you have to do this alone, why are you telling us now?" Aunt Hermione asked.

I looked around. I'd mostly been speaking to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, but my other relatives hovered around the door. "It wasn't always like this," I said plainly. I stared at Grandma. "I grew up knowing you once. I have clear memories of all of you. I've spent the night at Shell Cottage; I know about the squeaky stair. I know that there's a ghost that haunts the cliffs nearby, and Louis likes to say that it he was a wizard pirate, but really he was just a wizard who sailed out too far and splinched himself trying to get back to the beach." Uncle Bill's eyes were wide. "We used to be a family," I said implacably. "And if you help me... I can erase this future."

"What do you mean, erase this future?" Uncle Fred asked. He looked deeply confused.

"Imagine if, for example, you chose to trust Dad," I said simply. "Do you think if that happened you'd still be separated from Uncle Ron? You've spent the last thirty years with only half a family. I have my task laid out before me"--I neglected to mention that right now the need to reunite them and the ephemeral hope that Mum and Dad could be saved was the extent of my task at the moment--"but I'd like to have my family again. And you would know best, better than I, what needs to be done."

For a moment I thought I'd overdone it. The silence was so thick.

"We almost decided that we were wrong," Grandma finally said. She kept her eyes fixed on Uncle Ron. "It was the year that everyone was dead certain that Harry was another dark wizard, and you were in hiding. It just seemed so odd... certain things didn't add up. Bill pointed out powerful wards that protected the Burrow. Your father and I talked about it constantly. But then he died, and all the evidence pointed to Harry... he dueled with Kingsley Shacklebolt, remember? And beat him rather badly."

I was briefly thankful for all sorts of reasons that stunned me a bit. I don't think it even occurred to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione to question me; they knew very well that prophecies would play out. And even though I'd pulled pretty much everything I'd said right out of my arse, they believed me. I made sure that my face was set in determined, noble lines. "My suggestion is this," I spoke up. "It really needs to be later rather than sooner. There are less variables to consider, less room for things to go wrong"--I didn't want to make the time ripe for another Fiendfyre episode--"and that's crucial in my quest."

I might have overdone it a little. Uncle Ron gave me a funny look. But then he stared just over his mother's shoulder, as though he couldn't bear to look at her.

"They need to come to us before Voldemort is revealed," he said finally in a very quiet voice. He clasped Aunt Hermione's hand tightly.

"Are we actually considering letting a young man travel back in time?" Aunt Mary said in utter disbelief and confusion. She and Aunt Angelina murmured behind me.

"It's prophesied," I said. "I need a memory; I think it's best if I go back when Granddad dies at the Ministry..."

Any guilt -- and it was a very small amount -- I felt at lying to the lot of them (it really was for the best) was wiped away when Uncle Ron looked at Grandma. He'd never been one to hide his emotions, and the hope and regret was very clear on his face. Grandma was heart-broken, but she gazed hungrily at her lost son, and it was almost as though they'd already been reconciled. _I'm going to do this. They're going to be a family again. _

"It really is amazing, Al," Aunt Hermione interrupted my thoughts. "You look so much like your father."

"You want this, don't you?" I said. I set the pensieve on the small table. "You want your mother. And you want your son."

Uncle Ron moved quickly, but Grandma was faster. "It's the memory of the night he died, if that's okay," she said in a voice that wavered. "Or do you need more time?"

"I'll have plenty," I said. "I'll return at the new moon before the memory." I whispered the incantation, and the runes lit up. The rune that Dad had made me felt suddenly warm against my chest, where it hung from a chain. I stared around at their scared, confused, and hopeful faces and I slashed my palm. The blood swirled and the starry memory dragged me down.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

**The Laws of Time Travel: **(These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(The universe is not kidding about this one.)(After everything else I've changed, I'm sort of glad that I'd die before I could kill Mum and Dad)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)(Yep, still don't like Fate so much)(I still hate Fate, but I hate articles more)(Fake prophecies are the best)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death. _(Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)(I'm still waiting to find out what these are; I've got a bad feeling)(I wonder if this has something to do with the fact that no matter how much I change things, certain events always happen, like Dad having his blood taken in the graveyard, or Granddad Weasley being attacked at the Department of Mysteries)(It's really convenient when I've got to lie to people)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)(Even if you really, really, really want to get drunk)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

_Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are._

_Don't tell your dad that you are his child from the future. He will just think you're a lunatic._

_Try to avoid the subject of someone's imminent death. They get really cranky when they know exactly how and when they're going to die._

_Don't do things to deliberately turn people against your father. They will actually be turned against him, and they may not find a way back from distrust and dislike._

_Being a good liar is pretty much a necessity for the time traveler._


	35. Aunt Luna, 1995

17 December 1995

I followed Luna through the halls of Hogwarts, feeling like a stalker. I was invisible; I brushed past students. I saw them turn, confused, but I was already gone. It was the third day of my sojourn in the past, and I needed to talk to her. To someone. I'd tried to visit Xeno, but the funny house on the hill was cold and dark. I'd stared at it for what felt like hours, feeling a rather afraid. I'd never met Xeno in my own time; when had he died?

I tried to ignore the fact that I'd seen his name in the Memorial Gardens at the Albus Dumbledore Institute for Magical Scholarship.

I ghosted behind her, and watched as she spoke quietly to the round-faced boy I knew was Neville Longbottom. They spoke in quiet whispers, and I had a feeling that they were talking about Dad. Dad, who was universally feared by practically every witch and wizard in Britain. Despite the fact that I knew that in six months or so, Dad and Mum and Uncle Ron would be completely vindicated and everything would be all right, it was deeply unsettling. And not only because it was my fault, though that was a major factor.

But the newspapers were full of stories about Dad that revealed their advanced state of paranoia that had me wondering if the lot of them were on Muggle drugs like crack. The more outrageous claims were almost humorous ("Harry Potter Has Scheme to Decrease Value of Galleon"; "Potter to Employ Muggle Technology Against Wizards?"; "What are 'Firelegs' and Why is Potter Using Them?"), but the level of fear against Dad was unnerving. The worst articles had quotes from Albus or Sirius; even though I knew, theoretically, that they were only trying to use the situation to actually make people wary of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, it made my stomach clench a little.

I was so lost in thought, that Luna was alone for moments before I strode over to her. She was humming, and her eyes were rather vague. Checking to make sure that we were the only two in the corridor, I bent down and whispered, "I'm in love with a Heliopath." She nearly jumped right out of her skin, and pressed a suddenly shaking hand to her temple.

"Merlin," she breathed.

"That's me," I said. "I need to talk to you."

"Suddenly everything makes so much more sense..." she said dazedly. "You stole the cloak! And wrote the article!"

I laughed, and managed not to sound too bitter. "That would be me."

Her eyes popped excitedly; her mouth was slightly open. "Now I finally understand -- Dad left me something for you -- of _course _it was for you -- hold on, meet me at my spot down by the lake!" And before I could stop her, before I could even say anything, and before I could wonder about her use of the past tense when she mentioned Xeno, she ran away. I gaped after her. She had just acted exactly like Aunt Hermione, and I had never known two witches to be more different from each other.

Even the school seemed dismal and the students hurried and did not linger in corridors. Nearly Headless Nick floated morosely ahead of me, and only gave even Gryffindors brief, curt nods. And when Severus rounded the corner like a grumpy, overgrown bat, I did what the rest of the students did and cowered out of his path, despite the fact that he couldn't see me. It was a relief to escape the castle. _Who is in charge here? Voldemort? _I asked myself incredulously. The overall atmosphere of Hogwarts was so dim and unhappy that it had to be his evil at work.

Dredging up memories, I tried to think back and recall if Dad had ever mentioned that Voldemort took over the school in 1995.

"Sorry that took so long," Aunt Luna ran up, panting for breath. "Had to avoid Umbridge. I think she's set a Tuling after me -- those are little flying mirrors that can help people spy on others, you know -- she always knows where I am." She glanced around, looking slightly fearful. "Are you sure you should be here? The Marauder's Map--"

"Please," I said. "One thing at a time." So the stupid Umbridge bitch was in charge, was she? "If you're worried about the Marauder's Map, I know how to hide from it. Merlin knows I needed to -- James always wanted to prank me." I waved my wand and made the both of us Unplottable. There was a brief twinge of part pleasure, part pain when I remembered that Emmy had always been the one to figure that particular trick out.

She blinked at me; I had the feeling that she was impressed. "Tell me that something horrible happens to Umbridge," she said after a moment. She sounded very vicious and completely unlike any Luna I had ever met.

I was struck with a memory. "You kill her," I said without thinking. My eyes widened when the full memory hit me. "With the spell I taught you!" It was a very odd sort of pride that I felt. And with it I felt something strange and new, and I couldn't quite place it. But I kept my eyes on her face; she did not seem frightened at all at the thought. Just determined. "Aunt Luna... where's your dad?"

Without warning, her eyes filled with tears. "He died," she said in a small voice. "Voldemort came to our house and murdered him."

It was like a punch to the gut. Everything suddenly seemed real: too real. Voldemort. The war that my father had been placed into by fate and prophecy. I'd dealt with non-existence, and I'd dealt with my father's death -- which had seemed entirely natural -- but Xeno Lovegood had been a friend of mine. And he'd been murdered. I found it almost difficult to breathe, and my mind automatically zoomed through different scenarios. I could go back--

Except that I couldn't. I couldn't backtrack. I was in December 1995, and I couldn't, couldn't jump to a previous time without the very real probability that I would undo everything that I did now. I was already locked into this time; Xeno was already dead and there was nothing I could do to change it.

I stood up abruptly and paced. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I had no idea," I looked at her, pleading. "I didn't. I swear." And I wracked my brains, trying to remember if Xeno had ever been mentioned. And he had... but not the manner of his death. It was as though icy water had been poured over me. "I would have changed it."

And then she threw herself at me and wrapped her arms around my stomach. I could feel hot tears already soaking my robes. I patted her on the back, remembering that she had done this for me when I was a child. And she'd worn yellow to Dad's funeral -- and the double funeral -- and it had cheered the three of us up. "Dad always said," I said in a raspy voice, "that death isn't the end." But the words felt empty when I said them; I'd spent years going to desperate measures to try to stop Dad's death.

She didn't call me on being a hypocrite. "Dad said the same thing after Mum died," she said. "He said that when we die, we climb this large staircase and at the top of it is everyone we've ever loved."

I patted her on the back. She pulled away and swiped at her eyes.

"He left this for you," she said. She pulled out a sealed letter. It was addressed to Merlin. "He left me a letter, too, saying that someday I'd probably know who Merlin was," she handed it to me. I took it, wondering what message he could possibly have had for me. Fresh tears leaked out of her blue eyes. "I think he suspected that he was going to die..."

I slit it open and pulled it out.

_Dear Merlin, _

_I think I have discovered the curse that kills your father..._


	36. Nagini

21 December 1995

Frankly, I had a hard time concentrating on my task. The Department of Mysteries was silent: Granddad Weasley paced the floor with increasingly slow steps. He was getting quite sleepy, and I knew that Nagini would slither up at any moment. My moment was swiftly approaching, and all I could think about was the information that Xeno had left me... and what I'd have to do when I returned to 2028 to uncover the truth.

I jogged a bit in place. I couldn't blame Granddad for being tired. Clamping down hard on my thoughts, I gripped the slightly sweaty Time-Turner in my hand, and forced myself to wait. I couldn't help but chuckle a little; sometimes my sense of humor surprised even me. And if Segnismorenia actually existed and had killed Dad... I sort of wanted to drop a little hint. _I'm here_, _Dad, and all will be well! _Hence the Time-Turner. It wouldn't hurt for them to consider the fact that someone else knew. Aunt Luna had told me that they were still freaking out about the Invisibility Cloak, and hopefully they would take my presence here tonight as something benign.

I'd spent a lot of time with Aunt Luna since I'd been back, so much so that Dad was apparently getting suspicious, even though he was in hiding and ought not to be able to keep track of his friends so closely. I had to cover my mouth to keep from chuckling: Dad's subversive little group had had several different names, and this one was my favorite: Potter's Army. It had originally been Dumbledore's Army; after that (when Dad, Mum, and Uncle Ron were keeping secrets from Albus) it had been the Defense Association. I could just imagine the look on Dad's face when it had been named in honor of him.

A snort escaped, and I glanced nervously over at Granddad. He didn't appear to notice at all. In fact, he had sat down and his eyelids were now drooping heavily. A brief tendril of unease uncurled in my belly. I'd originally tried to just get Granddad out, but the moment I had lifted my wand to cast a Compulsion Charm, I'd felt a faint rumble of thunder in my veins. Since I was inside (and not a complete moron), I'd had the feeling that the universe was telling me not to tinker with Granddad's presence.

I entertained myself by trying to figure out which one had almost been broken. I was pretty sure that it didn't have anything to do with the prophecy. It was entertaining to consider the fact that Granddad had to be attacked by Nagini in order for me to be born, though that skirted too close to Mum and Dad's sex life for comfort. It was bad enough that I knew the chasm between them had been caused because Dad couldn't keep it in his pants (something he had lectured us about; a large part of me wanted to tell James about this).

I didn't want to think too closely about the Cornerstones of Fate. They were gradually taking shape, and I could almost see them in my memory. In every reality, Granddad had been on watch (whether for the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry of Magic) the night Voldemort sent his snake to retrieve the prophecy. Wormtail had used Dad's blood to resurrect Voldemort every time. Dad had defeated Voldemort every time. _Dad was hit with a curse every time and--_

But I stopped myself before that thought could go any further. I refused to believe that Dad's death was a Cornerstone of Fate--

Nagini slithered toward us, and I could no longer afford to be distracted. She was huge; I'd never been afraid of snakes, but something about her sent a chill right up my spine. And suddenly I wasn't certain if I could stand by and watch as she attacked Granddad. I stepped over to where he had fallen asleep, fear undulating over my skin, and I heard a muted roll of thunder. A warning from time itself. I felt physically ill. _He won't die, _I told myself. _He won't. _

I forced myself to watch and not to vomit. It was the second to worst thing I'd seen; Voldemort cursing Dad while he was still just a little baby had the top spot, but watching the strong jaws of the snake punch through Granddad's flesh and I didn't think that I'd ever be able to forget the warbling, wet cry he made as he was forced to wakefulness by pain. I strained against the thunder, and knew the moment I was released from doing damage to the fabric of the universe.

"Impedimenta!" I shouted. Nagini was flung back into the air. I pulled off Dad's cloak, knowing that I looked enough like my father that he'd be fooled. But for one second I was torn between wanting to destroy Nagini (and thus destroy a Horcrux) and healing Granddad. I wavered as she skid across the floor. He groaned and the choice was made.

I knelt beside him, murmuring a spell that sounded like a song, one that Severus had taught me. He bled freely and my hands were covered in it. His eyes were wide open, fixed upon my face. "You're going to be all right," I said. "You're going to live." I almost slipped and called him Granddad.

I was too inattentive to the snake. There was no warning, only pain as her fangs dug into my foot. I screamed and somehow managed to get her off me before she could tear off my foot. I stood up, unable to keep the weight on the injured foot, and held my wand out at her. _Get here soon, Dad, _I pleaded. For the first time, I realized that I was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. Being from the future did not mean that I was immortal; my body was as fragile as theirs. And Nagini had cold eyes and I could die if she struck me while I was unprepared.

The lift doors opened, and I swung the cloak back over myself. Nagini was immediately distracted by Dad's thunderous approach. Lights jet from his wand -- including a Killing Curse -- while I watched woozily. He was relentless in his attack, and Nagini escaped within what seemed like moments. And all of Dad's attention was focused on Granddad. Fear and love were written clearly on his face, and just to be certain that I had done my best to heal the rift I had created, I sent a very gentle Compulsion Charm that would be like a tendril in Granddad's brain, telling him to trust Dad and Mum and Uncle Ron.

While Dad tried to help Granddad, I kept an eye out for Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The next few minutes happened in a strange daze. I was a little impatient. I needed to get to a place where I could have complete privacy, though I suspected that I would need attention from St. Mungo's. Kingsley arrived while my head became steadily fuzzier and fuzzier, and I barely managed to get a Shield Charm up between Kingsley and Dad in time. And I wasn't certain if the Compulsion Charm I'd used to subdue Kingsley and give him enough trust in Dad to ensure that he'd hear the truth about the time travel. The Time-Turner arced toward Dad; it's fall seemed to take hours.

I limped after them, wand trained on Kingsley, ready to cast the Imperius Curse if I had to. Time slipped through my fingertips, and it was all I could do to keep the presence of mind to worry over Dad's situation. Somewhere, I was in great physical pain, but with every step it lessened until I could barely feel my limbs at all. Not a good sign.

It was dangerous and foolish of me, but when Kingsley led Granddad into St. Mungo's, I followed. The Healers scurried into motion, and I ghosted after them, leaving a trail of blood that went unnoticed. I wished that I didn't feel like I was floating so high above myself... I ought to have taken a Healer to a quiet room and forced him to help... but I didn't think that I could manage to exert control over someone else in my state...

_You shouldn't Imperius Healers, anyway, _I told myself sternly. It seemed like something my mother would say, though she probably wouldn't want me to Imperius anyone... and I'd already done it to Uncle Ron...

I found a place to lay: underneath Granddad's bed. It was cool and dark, and as soon as the young Healer with wiry hair wasn't looking, I dragged down enough Blood-Replenishing Potion to keep me through the night. I was certain that I'd feel well enough to heal myself after I slept...


	37. The Sixth

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of sixteen during the Battle for the Hogwarts. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, and the twin owners of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for the wizarding legend, Merlin, in the moments before he passed. _

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made in his name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, or the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship._

**GINEVRA POTTER, KEY FIGURE IN DEFEAT OF VOLDEMORT, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Ginevra Potter, one of the most instrumental members of the Order of the Phoenix, former Quidditch player, Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_, followed her husband, Harry Potter, in death. She collapsed suddenly minutes after his passing, and despite the best efforts of the Healers, passed away. She was thirty nine years old. "They had a connection," says Mrs. Hermione Weasley. "None of us really understood it, but -- it's horrible and tragic and awful, but they're together still." Mr. Ronald Weasley says that Mrs. Potter's "greatest achievement was her ability to love."_

_She is survived by her three children. _

_The family is asking that in lieu of flowers, please show condolence by donating in her name to the Neville Longbottom Memorial Wing at St. Mungo's, the Albus Dumbledore Institute of Magical Scholarship, or the Potter Home for Orphans. _


	38. Segnismorenia

**Segnismorenia** (_Excerpt from_: Secrets of the Darkest Arts)

_Of the curses that cause death_ Segnismorenia _is perhaps the most elusive. The first reported use of it was in Eastern Europe years after the dark wizard, Koschej Bessmertnij, was active. An entire village died suddenly an unknown period of time after his defeat at the hands of an Armenian witch. Unable to view this as a coincidence, and unable to determine any sort of cause using every means of magical scrutiny available at the time, the fledgling Eastern European counterpart to the British Ministry for Magic suspected an unknown spell. After nearly a decade of research and travel, it was revealed that others who had met Koschej died of an indeterminate cause years after their meeting._

_The incantation, however, is still unknown. There is a way to test whether or not someone has been cursed with this, though it is generally a posthumous test and not commonly used as the use of this curse is, understandably, very rare. Most dark wizards wish to kill their victims right away rather than allowing years to pass._

22 November 2028

By the time I'd hobbled to my parents' graves, I had memorized everything I could find on the vague curse Xeno Lovegood had found for me. I was alone, and I'd wanted to be alone ever since I'd returned to my own time. Grandma Weasley had been waiting beside my bed when I woke up from having memories forced through my scars (at this point, I wished that I'd thought to make a pretty pattern out of them) and that had been truly excellent.

Except then she'd asked me, brown eyes filled with worry, if I'd done something to myself. If the wounds on my hands were self-inflicted. If I'd tried to off myself (though she'd never actually put it in quite those terms, I knew she meant to ask me if I'd planned to kill myself). My vehement denial -- entirely unfeigned -- had mollified her a bit. But my entire family (reunited) continued to watch me closely. So I'd done what any good Slytherin would do: I'd given them the slip and reset the wards on my flat to keep them out.

And now I was here, after a month of procrastinating for too many reasons to count.

I winced when a sharp stab of pain shot through my foot when it collided with a tree root. Nagini's bite had followed me to the future, along with my new set of memories. The healers had been baffled. I'd pretended like I had no idea how it happened, though I had told them that I suspected the hospital had been infiltrated by vermin. Unable to find any other reason for serious snake bites to appear on catatonic patients, they'd left it alone.

I walked even slower as I neared their resting place. My belly was an entire knot of nerves and my fingers shook with it.

The way to ascertain whether or not someone had been hit by the shadowy curse that may or may not be a myth (the details on it were vague, always, though I suspected there was more information that had not been translated to English) was not too difficult. I'd used Aunt Hermione's translation charm to get an English version of the potion ingredients and directions. I wished that finding more solid information about the curse itself were as easy; but I needed to know where to find the information about it, and I didn't want to translate every book on the Dark Arts there was in the Eastern European countries. Thanks to my memories of another reality, in which Severus Snape had taken special interest in me, I was confident that I could do it.

Unfortunately, it required that I exhume Dad. The potion required it.

The idea of it filled me with both grief and repulsion, and as I walked, I still did not know if I'd be able to do it. I'd even entertained the notion of going back to a point before Dad had died and taking some of his living body. But that would mean that I'd never be able to go back and stop the curse from hitting him in the first place, and that really might send me over the edge.

A twig snapped behind me. I whirled around; there was nothing there. My heart galloped inside my chest, and I belatedly realized that I ought to have retrieved the invisibility cloak from beneath Granddad and Grandma Potter's bed. Here I was, walking blithely along, completely visible, and about to do something that felt too much like a desecration.

I kept going.

They were in a beautiful spot in the cemetery. The cold, late sun shone down on the stones, brightening them a little. It was especially beautiful in the spring time, when the grass was green and the trees and flowers were in bloom. But it had a more haunting beauty in November, on the cusp of winter. It seemed fitting.

I stared at them for a while, wishing they were here.

"I wish I knew what you'd say to me if you were here," I admitted out loud. I got close enough to touch the markers and I sat on the cold, hard earth. "But that's sort of the point." Their etched names seemed to stare at me inscrutably and I looked away. It suddenly just seemed too much. That I'd done too much. Even now, when it had not been that long ago at all, I cringed away from what had caused me to go back in time in the first place.

Dad wouldn't have wanted anyone else to have had the burden that he did. I understood that now, and I had no idea how I'd ever been so stupid to think that he'd actually thank me for what I'd done. And my subsequent jumps through time had not been much better. I'd manipulated people, lied to them, stolen Dad's memories, used the Imperius Curse on family members and enemies alike, and had caused a man to die because I'd made him swear an Unbreakable Vow.

"I have a feeling that you wouldn't be very proud of me," I said. "And I keep thinking about what you told us about having a vision after you were hit by the Killing Curse -- the green one -- and how you saw Dumbledore the first time and Granddad and Grandma next." I paused, thinking about what I wanted to say. "I'll bet you regret telling me that it was okay if I sorted into Slytherin, Dad."

I glanced back at their markers, and traced his name and then hers with a finger. I did love them very much. "I think," I said. "I think you were hit by a curse that killed you eventually. Voldemort did it... probably out of revenge because he knew you were going to win and if he had to die, he wanted to be sure you'd die unhappy as well. He'd already tried to kill you twice with the Killing Curse, and it just didn't work..." I hated the pleading note in my voice, but I couldn't help it. It seemed really wrong that I'd gone time traveling for all the wrong reasons and yet come out with something that may have the potential to be wonderful. "At least I think that's why he did it."

I sat there in silence for a good five minutes. "I have to check," I said. I was breathing through my nose and my eyes were stinging but the tears didn't come. I supposed that others would find me balking at exhuming Dad a bit funny, since I'd used an Unforgivable on several different occasions. But I'd found out what Voldemort had done to his own father's remains in order to resurrect himself before I went to Hogwarts, and that had seemed so abhorrent to me then. And now I planned to do the same thing, though for very different reasons, but the parallel between me and Voldemort seemed too naked in this moment. "I have to get a sample from your body. I really, really don't want to do it. And I don't know how you'd feel about it, about me."

And suddenly the words were gushing from me. "I don't even know if you were actually hit by the curse, Dad, and I'm so afraid that you weren't, and you really were just meant to die really young." My stomach clenched at the thought. "Xeno Lovegood told me that I shouldn't let fear kill hope; but now there's a possibility that I could save you... I just don't know what to do."

My only warning was a soft intake of breath, and then a hand grabbed my shoulder and I startled so badly that I nearly fell over onto my side. I turned my head--

It was Uncle Percy; his eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open. "_Al?_ Are you _Merlin_?"


	39. Sharp Truths

My throat was extremely dry. "How much did you--"

"I've been here since you first got here," he said absently, adjusting his glasses. "Of course you're Merlin. I should have guessed... it never sat right with me that no one could figure out who was at the Ministry the night Dad almost died. And once we started telling the children, and showing you the memories of the war... The Wise _Asp_-- could you have given us a bigger clue? Your _name_!"

I had never seen him more scattered, though the complete shock had lasted only a moment before he began to put the pieces together in his mind. He muttered to himself for several minutes, pacing back and forth in front of the graves. "So your mysterious illness... that was you returning to the future, correct? I presume you used the _Foci Memoria_ method?" He paused. "Don't answer that. Of course you did. The scarring on your palms -- your foot!"

I stared at him; I'd never really seen him like this before, calculating and surprised and a little exhilarated. I pulled the injured foot closer to my body.

"From Nagini..."

"Er, yeah," I said. For some reason, I felt the need to clarify something. "I used some of Granddad's potions while he was at St. Mungo's. I camped out under his bed for a few days."

"You saved him, didn't you?" he said. He shook his head incredulously. "You really are your father's son, aren't you?"

I recoiled, as though I'd been hit. "I'm not," I said forcefully. "I mean, I am. Of course. But I'm not half the man he was." I was about to open my mouth and confess everything to him: the reason why I went, the reason why I had to keep going, and how it was a complete accident that things might be able to end happily, but the words wouldn't come. Nor would I tell him that lie about me having a prophecy tied to me. "Listen... I think there was a curse--"

"I heard," he waved his hand. "We never even _considered_ anything like that. It seemed natural. Awful, but natural."

"I know," I said. I scrubbed my face with my hands. "It was a complete accident that I even noticed something odd. He kept dying exactly the same length of time after he defeated Voldemort..."

He shook his head sharply. "I need a few moments," he said. He took them. I could see him out of the corner of my eye; he leaned on the gravestone, his eyes tightly closed. It was like I was seeing him for the first time; I'd never fully appreciated how intelligent Uncle Percy was. In my first life, I'd seen him as sort of sad, and I'd used that against him. But I could literally see awareness flicker across his face as he continued to connect all the dots. I could practically see them. The Cloak, yes, I'd taken it. The article... I'd written it. I let him think.

A part of me wanted him to stop me. Uncle Percy had a very strong sense of morality and justice, even though I'd used him in a weak moment to do something I now considered abhorrent (though, in his defense, I hadn't outlined my complete plan to him back before I'd used his memory to travel to Halloween, 1981). I trusted him far more than I did myself. And if he thought that this was too much, that I'd traveled down a road too far... Voldemort had done what he'd done to become immortal. I didn't want Dad to never die, but I wanted him to stay alive a lot longer. It frightened me a little that I simply couldn't decide whether or not I had gone too far.

I wanted Uncle Percy to make that decision.

"There's a chance that Harry -- and therefore Ginny -- didn't die of natural causes," he said. It wasn't a question.

"A pretty big chance," I said. "It's too perfect, that he died at exactly the same time. One time he defeated Voldemort at age fifteen, and he died at age thirty nine. And a few times he was seventeen, and he died at forty one. It's always twenty four years and twenty four days after."

"Al, look at me," he said quietly. I did. "What, exactly, are you waiting for?"

"Er--"

"I'm a little confused by what I heard," he said. He stared at me, brow furrowed. "Why are you hesitating to do this?"

"I'm afraid of going too far," I said. I thought of how I'd used the Imperius Curse on Uncle Ron, and ignored Mum while she screamed at me that I had no idea what 'always and always' meant. I'd stunned Emily and lied to everyone I loved, making them believe that traveling through time was my own special destiny, just to get them to help me when I was the one who mucked up their lives in the first place. "I think I've already gone too far." I swallowed, and forced myself to maintain eye contact. "Voldemort used his father's bones to resurrect himself."

"This situation is completely different," Uncle Percy said immediately, without hesitation. "I presume there's a way to discover whether the curse has been used on your father or not?" At my nod, he continued. "And you need a bit of his remains to do it?"

"Yeah," I said.

"For one, this is nothing at all like Voldemort," he pointed out. "If you were my son, Al, and this was my grave, I wouldn't consider it a desecration, but... an act of love." He held up his hand to stall my protests. "After the war was over, Aunt Luna told us that Merlin -- that's you -- did a lot of good. She speaks very highly of you, you know. She told us about the Memorial Munchies, and how you were a comfort to her after her father died. And when your Dad and Mum were a bit annoyed that you obviously manipulated events to make him think he was going to die, Luna told us that the sacrificial nature of the act had probably saved lives."

I shrugged, feeling a bit unsettled. It was true that more people were actually alive now than they were in the first reality. Everyone except Mum and Dad. And Neville Longbottom, Mad-Eye Moody, and others. "I am doing it because I love Dad and Mum," I said. "But"--and I thought of my idea of substituting another baby with Dad so that Neville Longbottom would be burdened--"that doesn't mean that I can't do stupid things because of it."

"The fact of the matter is that unearthing your father's remains to find out what killed him is not evil," he said a bit sharply. "This is nothing at all like what Voldemort did to his father. That was an act of contempt and hatred and evil, none of which you're truly capable."

He obviously had no idea that I'd used an Unforgivable on Uncle Ron. I didn't want to disabuse him of this notion.

"You really think so?" I asked.

He ignored this. "Do you want me to help you? I can do it, if you want." At my shocked look, he grimaced at me. "I love your mum and dad, Al, if they can be saved, then I want to help."

A warmth uncurled in my stomach and I stood up and dusted off the back of my trousers. "Just... do it with me?"

He nodded, and together we pointed our wands. The earth began to shift and move of its own accord, piling up on the side and creating a long hole. The coffin was quickly revealed, and I procrastinated by making sure that every bit of dirt had come off the top. Uncle Percy lifted it easily out of the hard ground. I helped, but I wondered if I'd ever have been able to do it without him there, his faith in me (which I didn't really deserve) giving strength and comfort.

I withdrew a small bottle from my pocket and, taking a deep breath against the smell I knew I'd find, I nodded. He flipped open the lid, and it took me maybe three seconds to get a small piece of Dad's remains and conceal it in the bottle. "That's all?" Uncle Percy asked in a muffled voice. He didn't wait for a reply, but let the lid slam shut. Together, we returned Dad to his resting place, and covered him again; the process had taken about four minutes.

"I -- er -- have the potion already mostly done," I said. "It's at my flat; do you want to--"

"Try to stop me," he said firmly.

I Apparated ahead of him to open the wards while he sent off an owl to the family, letting them know that I was all right. I was relieved to have a family member at my side; Uncle Percy could run interference while I watched the cauldron boil. I knew it was going to be the longest week of my life.

In a way, I was right. I told Uncle Percy (who took the week off of work, unbeknownst to Aunt Audrey) almost everything, though I felt the need to edit out the worst of what I'd done. I didn't tell him how I'd used the Unforgivables, or what compelled me to go back in the first place (manipulating him to do so). And I was incredibly grateful for his presence. Grandma Weasley always said that a 'watched cauldron never boils (and sometimes _gives_ you boils),' and I would have been waiting an eternity in that case, for sure.

"Do you know when he got hit?" he asked, sipping a glass of wine.

I glanced at the cauldron for the thirty millionth time that day, just to be certain the potion was still at the right color and consistency. I could barely sleep for worrying over it. "Well... I assume that it was during the final battle?"

"You assume or you know?" he asked sharply.

"Well..." I said. I searched my memory; _Could_ it have been before? None of my readings on _Segnismorenia_ had given an exact interval of time. I could be wrong about twenty four years and twenty four days. I broke out into a cold sweat. Dad had met Voldemort three times; it could have happened at any one of those, and my damn memory had been put through so much that I'd never be able to remember exact dates for those other meetings. I was really bad with time and dates. And if Voldemort had hit Dad with this curse during his first meeting, I was screwed. I couldn't go back to 1995 at all.

"Your father was hit with a curse," he said. He seemed to understand my panic. "In the spring of 1996; it flattened him for weeks. We never did figure out which curse was used. Voldemort was the one who cast it; it was during their duel in the Ministry, when your dad drew him out into the open."

I remembered, and my heart started to pound in my chest. Even if it wasn't the curse, it would be stupid of me not to at least check. I chuckled a little. "At least I know my next destination," I said, nodding at the pensieve that sat on my sofa.

The next day, neither one of us said one word. Our talking had dried up; my plan was simple: stop Dad from getting hit with that curse. Uncle Percy approved. We didn't need to say more of it, and I was in too much pain to speak coherently anyway. Not from Nagini's bite (which was hurting less and less, and soon I wouldn't need to hobble), but from the anxiety that had given me a constant stomach ache.

The truth came without a warning. Suddenly the cauldron had stopped bubbling and a hissing, whistling sound filled the flat. An ugly, bloody purple mist wafted up, spiraling toward the ceiling. The spirals entwined with each other and split apart again, undulating. It had a bitter scent.

It had done exactly what it was supposed to do. Dad had been hit by the curse. Emotions stabbed me: hope, shock, and joy. It was almost painful, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Uncle Percy drew in deep, shaking breaths. I glanced over at him; his shoulders shook slightly, and his hands were pressed tightly to his eyes and he'd flung his glasses aside. I would worry about the Cornerstones of Fate later; in this moment, the hope had completely taken over, and I wasn't even capable of believing that I might not be able to stop Dad from getting hit by the curse.

APAPAPAPAPAPAP

**The Laws of Time Travel:** (These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (The universe is not kidding about this one.)(After everything else I've changed, I'm sort of glad that I'd die before I could kill Mum and Dad)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death_. (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)(Yep, still don't like Fate so much)(I still hate Fate, but I hate articles more)(Fake prophecies are the best)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death_. (Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)(I'm still waiting to find out what these are; I've got a bad feeling)(I wonder if this has something to do with the fact that no matter how much I change things, certain events always happen, like Dad having his blood taken in the graveyard, or Granddad Weasley being attacked at the Department of Mysteries)(It's really convenient when I've got to lie to people)(I hope the Cornerstones have nothing to do with _Segnismorenia_)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)(Even if you really, really, really want to get drunk)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are.

Don't tell your dad that you are his child from the future. He will just think you're a lunatic.

Try to avoid the subject of someone's imminent death. They get really cranky when they know exactly how and when they're going to die.

Don't do things to deliberately turn people against your father. They will actually be turned against him, and they may not find a way back from distrust and dislike.

Being a good liar is pretty much a necessity for the time traveler.

If you really aren't able to do something, chances are another member of your family can, and they might help.


	40. Curses, Foiled Again

14 June 1996

I felt slightly smug when I Apparated to Uncle Percy's house at the end of my month in the past. Compared to the others, it had been relatively uneventful; I'd spent it writing letters and making plans for another jump. In case I had to make another one; I was not entirely certain. Everything had gone well; I was reasonably confident that none of my actions had caused disasters of apocalyptic proportions. I wouldn't be sure until I went back to the future, but I had a good feeling.

I paced outside his home, going over the plan once more in my head. It was a good idea. I needed to have someone on my side (it was an added bonus that Uncle Percy would know that my convalescence was not a result of a suicide attempt), and Uncle Percy had proven time and again that he was dependable and, for some unfathomable reason, trusted me not to fuck everything up. While this attitude seemed remarkably gullible to me (he _had_ to have known that I'd made a real muck of things, but he'd never mentioned it), I appreciated it nonetheless.

So lost was I in thought that I didn't see the Death Eater, until he shouted "_Stupefy!_" and a jet of red light arced toward me. I leapt out of the way just in time; I swore I could feel the spell fly by me, ruffling my robes. _There are Death Eaters out and about!_ I reminded myself. I was just about to send my own spell at him -- he was just about to touch the ugly Dark Mark that marred his forearm -- when a curse hit him in the belly and his entrails spilled out onto the pavement. I stared in shock when he fell to his knees, mouth gaping open, and then to the ground, a pool of blood rapidly surrounding him.

"_Harry_?" Uncle Percy held his wand in shaking fingers.

I shook myself out of the fog -- I hadn't witnessed such a violent death since I'd seen the disastrous first final battle -- and gripped his forearm tightly and Apparated him to Godric's Hollow. It was fortunate that he thought I was Dad. This would make things a lot easier, and I didn't need more complications now that I kept having that man's death flash in front of my eyes. Granddad and Grandma Potter's home was quiet and deserted.

"Isn't this your parents' old house?" he asked incredulously. "What the hell -- where are your glasses -- Harry --"

I pulled his wand out of his unresisting hand and said, "_Incarcerous_." He looked confused, though suspicion rapidly dawned on his face. I grimaced. "I'm really, really sorry about this, Uncle Percy, but I didn't want you to kill first and ask questions later."

"What?" he said faintly. I had to admit that seeing the reaction was always sort of fun.

"I'm your nephew from the future," I said importantly. "I've got a story to tell you..."

I told him everything I had told him two weeks ago (for me) and decades in the future (for him). I didn't even have to put a silencing charm on him; he just stared at me impassively. I couldn't tell if he believed me or not, and I decided to bring everything I had to the table. I sat down and took off my shoe and sock, revealing the nasty wound I'd received as a gift from Nagini. "I camped out under Granddad's bed for a few days, and sort of borrowed the potions they gave him for his injury. I was there when he described the 'black haired man' who saved him. I think that was me he saw, because by the time Dad got there, Granddad was unconscious -- that is not to say that Dad didn't save him," I added hurriedly. I wracked my brain, searching for more proof. "I didn't want--"

"Stop," he said finally. He looked like he had a headache. "If you're trying to convince me -- I believe you," he said. At my surprised look, he added dryly, "I've had experience with time travelers before." He hesitated. "And it helps that you set your foot over the wards at my home. The blood wards. You'd have to be related to me somehow."

"You -- er -- that's good," I said uncertainly. I didn't like the tone in his voice, not really. He was distant and formal and cold. Uncle Percy had always been rather formal, but in a warm and bemused sort of way, as though he was surprised by the natural exuberance of children. I sat back on my heels, silent. And just when I was about to break the silence, a loud, jangling alarm went off. _Dad is at the Ministry_. "Look, I'm really sorry," I said, eyeing him. "But I've got to give you a potion before you can leave... and I don't really trust you not to..."

He tried to look offended, as though he had never dreamed of trying to escape, but he didn't quite succeed. I decided that, just to be safe, I'd take his wand with him and lock him in. I regretted doing this; _what if he punishes me for this later_? But if I could exhume Dad, I could kidnap and restrain Uncle Percy. I didn't even have any attacks of guilt; before I'd left, he told me that I could use the Imperius Curse on him if I felt like I had to.

"You were in Slytherin, weren't you?" he asked suddenly, as I placed protective (incarcerating) enchantments around him.

"Everyone always says it like it's a bad thing," I replied. "Got to go. I'll be back." And I pulled the invisibility cloak off the sofa (Uncle Percy's eyes widened when he saw it) and flung it over myself and turned on the spot, leaving him behind.

I was more than a little apprehensive. Uncle Percy had not been there at the battle in the Ministry of Magic. Before I had interfered, he had waited dutifully in his safe house chewing off his fingernails. I couldn't take a dry run in the pensieve, and I felt handicapped by that. I would have to fly without a broom and hope for the best. And everything just might rest on this decision. The darkness in the Atrium did nothing for my mood; it seemed ominous. Too dark. Too quiet.

And then it wasn't. Dad arrived first, but only just. Voldemort seemed to ooze out of shadow close to me. I prowled to the other side nearer Dad. My heart leapt in my chest as they taunted each other and began to duel. I felt and listened very carefully for the distant roll of thunder that signified the displeasure of the universe, but there was nothing. Others started to arrive, and I caught sight of Albus, who leaned against the wall. They were throwing fairly common spells at each other. Anything out of the ordinary -- anything nonverbal, and I had a bit of the centaur ready to be thrown between Dad and Voldemort.

But what if that wasn't good enough? Suddenly uneasy, I tried to step forward (though what I was going to do, I had no idea). And I bounced backward. An impenetrable, though invisible, wall stood between me and the duelers, and I felt a sick, horrible drop in my stomach. _This is it,_ I thought hazily. _This is the moment when Dad begins to die, and I can't do anything to stop it._ Voldemort screamed in pain, and two objects came flying toward me and hit the ground. His fingers.

This galvanized me into action. I gripped the bit of centaur that would be used as a shield between Dad and Voldemort, and began testing the wall as discreetly as I could, searching for any chink in it that I could push my way through. But it was flawless -- and I remembered that Albus was here; he must have put it up. I searched him out in the crowd, ready to run over to him and explain, as quickly as possible, who I was and what my purpose was, when it was over.

Voldemort yelled one more spell; there was a flash of charcoal gray light and Dad threw up his shield charm just a few seconds too late. "NO!" I shouted, not caring who heard me. Dad waved his wand, teetering as though he was about to fall over; there was a slight hiss as Notice-Me-Not Charms fell. Voldemort stared around at the crowded Atrium, ugly mouth wide open; moments later, he was gone.

The protective circle fell too late. Numb, I walked forward. Dad was wavering, and blinking quite a lot, though his voice sounded strong and firm as he spoke to the incompetent Minister Fudge. I knelt and pulled one of my shoes off and transfigured it into a bottle. Dad did not even notice when I cut off a lock of his hair and dropped it in the bottle, then tucked it away inside my robes. I couldn't believe my failure; I could only hope that this had not been the curse, but had been a different one. Somehow.

I desperately wanted to talk to Aunt Luna, though she couldn't really do anything. I'd have to leave the hair at Granddad and Grandma Potter's house. I wouldn't even know for another few weeks if Dad was stricken or not. I could leave it with Aunt Luna, but she'd never been good at potions, and the diagnostic was devilishly tricky. I was about to turn and walk away when I remembered that I'd written him a note. I pulled the crumpled parchment out of my pocket and stuffed it into his.

I returned to Uncle Percy. I kicked over a table, delighting in how the lamp shattered. "I can't believe this shit," I muttered. He couldn't hear me, but watched warily. I pulled at my hair with both hands. _Get a grip on yourself,_ I told myself firmly. _You don't even know if it's real or not. You don't even know if he's been hit with the curse._

Closing my eyes briefly, I undid the enchantments I'd placed around Uncle Percy. I only had three days left, and I had several letters to write and amend. My stomach ached, and my eyes stung, but I didn't cry. Not in front of him. He was probably quite annoyed with me. "Listen," I said in a shaky voice. "I've got to erase your memories. Not forever but..." I struggled to think of a trigger phrase that would unlock everything he'd learned about me. "As soon as I tell you: 'Uncle Percy, I'm in Slytherin,' you'll remember. And I'm hoping you'll want to help." _If there's any need for him to help,_ my pessimistic side said mutinously.

"Are you insane?" he asked conversationally.

I started to shake my head, then I thought about it. "Maybe a little," I admitted. "But not too badly. And you can't really blame me, can you? You have no idea how bloody confusing it is to have so many different memories."

I strode over to the hearth, where a small flask of Forget-For-Now potion was waiting. By the time I returned to him, he was already shaking his head, and had his lips pressed firmly together. He reminded me of Lily when she'd been a child and hated vegetables of any sort. He even had the same mulish expression on his face. "I'm not going to take this," he said forcibly, straining against his bonds. "You can't make me," he added, furthering his resemblance to my little sister.

"I can," I said sympathetically. "You told me that I had permission to use the Imperius Curse on you."

His eyes widened. "You'd use an Unforgivable on your own family?"

"I already have on Uncle Ron," I said without thinking. His shock grew and I grimaced. "You know how stubborn he is," I tried to play it off as no big deal, even though I felt increasingly guilty about it. I was suddenly struck with an idea that had little to do with Unforgivables and whether or not it was ethical to magically force family members to do my bidding. "Dad was struck with a curse at the Ministry just now," I said. "_Compulso!_" I added. Once his eyes went a little vague, I added, "You will do everything within your power to discover what exactly that curse was," I said. I might as well have all the information available once I'd returned to the future. It might be easier to hear bad news from family than from a potion.

He appeared to be almost awed by my temerity, and I was struck by how little this younger Uncle Percy trusted me, and it made me wonder why the future Uncle Percy had let me travel back to the past. He opened his mouth to say something, and I swooped in and forced the potion into his mouth, just as I'd seen Mum do to Lily.

Spluttering and coughing, he finally swallowed (I'd helped things along by gripping his jaw and keeping his chin up. "Why are you doing this to me?" he said harshly.

"You're my godfather--"

"So I'm being punished?" he said incredulously.

"No," I said patiently. "I already told you that I got the memory I needed from you--"

"And how do I know that I wasn't under the Imperius Curse?" he asked loudly. "You just said that not only are you willing to do it, but you actually have."

"You just killed someone," I said defensively. I glanced at my watch, anxious for the potion to take effect so I could brood in silence, and without my godfather around to make me feel worse than I already did. "You did it because you had to, and not because you wanted to." I wasn't even lying; I'd felt like I'd had to gain the memory from Uncle Ron in the most expedient way possible, even if my motivations had not been as noble as I would hope.

Awareness slowly began to trickle from his eyes. I watched it flee as he blinked rather rapidly. Slowly but surely, the potion began building a a wall (or, as I preferred to think of it, a protective circle) to hide his memories of meeting me. It never occurred to me that he might be faking it (this was Uncle Percy), and I blithely released him and handed him his wand.

The stunning spell came suddenly, and threw myself to the ground as he whirled on the spot to escape, face screwed up. I knew that he was attempting to hold onto his memories long enough to tell someone. "NO!" I shouted. And, using a spell that James had often put on me to embarrass me in front of my family, I cried, "_Slovantarus_!"

It struck him just as he disappeared, and my head thunked down on the floor in relief. His tongue and brain would be tied for hours; he wouldn't be able to tell anyone anything that made sense, nor would he be able to write.

_I'm going to get drunk,_ I decided. _But this time I'll lock myself in..._

**Author's Note:**

_I can't believe that Al is almost done! One more jump! Thanks to Mel, who named the chapter when I experienced a creativity meltdown. _

_On another note you guys have been pretty bad about leaving feedback. It makes me want to (mumble SPOILERS mumble) and (mumble MORE SPOILERS!) and oh! What about NEVILLE?! But then I remembered that I planned to do all of that anyway, so I guess it isn't that much of a punishment. Drat. Will have to think of something that is actually a punishment and not what I planned to do all along... decisions, decisions..._

_I have also discovered the joys of livejournal, and I generally have the chapters for this story and for my others up there long before they make it here. Hours, at the very least. My screenname is deadwoodpecker._


	41. The Seventh

**HARRY POTTER, SAVIOR OF WIZARDING WORLD, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, died last night at St. Mungo's. He was forty years old. Though he was still quite young, the accomplishments during the course of his lifetime are legendary. He defeated Tom Riddle (then known as Voldemort or, more commonly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) at the age of sixteen during the Battle for the Hogwarts. Upon graduation of Hogwarts, he became an Auror, despite the fact that many believed that he had given enough. But when asked -- and this phrase encapsulates his personality according to those closest to him -- why he chose to keep fighting, he said, "Evil and darkness have many heads; it is my duty to help keep them at bay." And for two decades he did just that, until late last year he developed an illness that brought him to a rapid decline._

_He did not die alone. He is survived by his three children. A Healer, who prefers to remain anonymous, stated that there was quite the crowd at the moment of his passing. This crowd included the famous naturalist, Luna Scamander, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, and the twin owners of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ronald and Hermione Weasley kept vigil with Mrs. Potter, of course. It is rumored that he asked for the wizarding legend, Merlin, in the moments before he passed. _

_The Daily Prophet would like all of their readers to take the time to remember the man who bought the peace we have today._

_Since the deaths, the family has remained in seclusion. Funeral details to follow. _

**GINEVRA POTTER, KEY FIGURE IN DEFEAT OF VOLDEMORT, DEAD**

_By Mahalia Dunesdon_

_Ginevra Potter, one of the most instrumental members of the Order of the Phoenix, former Quidditch player, Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_, followed her husband, Harry Potter, in death. She collapsed suddenly minutes after his passing, and despite the best efforts of the Healers, passed away. She was thirty nine years old. "They had a connection," says Mrs. Hermione Weasley. "None of us really understood it, but -- it's horrible and tragic and awful, but they're together still." Mr. Ronald Weasley says that Mrs. Potter's "greatest achievement was her ability to love."_

_She is survived by her three children. _

_Since the deaths, the family has been in seclusion. Funeral details to follow._

**Author's Note:**

_I got to reminiscing the other day, when I realized how close Al is to being complete. The spark that started BWP and BoA was me vegetating on the couch, wondering to myself: "Who would take a curse for Harry?" The answer I came to was everyone, including his children. And then I wondered how I could make that work... and I started writing three days later_


	42. Universe Man

18 November 2028

When I started returning to the future, I knew immediately that something was very, very wrong.

_Where is the pain?_ I asked myself (or perhaps the universe at large). Instead of the livid, searing memories invading my flesh through my scars, it was a gentle sensation, like sinking into a warm bath on a cold day. _Where is the doubt? Why aren't I feeling 'oh, fuck, what've I done now'?_ But the answers were not forthcoming, and I didn't figure it out until almost the end. But for the most part, instead of the intense mental anguish, I felt like I was tied down and being flogged by feathers. It was frustrating (mostly because the niggling suspicion that I had done something right was so foreign).

"Give him some room!" someone said loudly.

"I _am_," said Uncle Ron. He was very close to my head. "He's waking up."

"Yes, dear, we can see that," said Aunt Hermione rather testily. "Step back. We don't know how he's feeling... probably pretty poorly, I imagine."

"I felt fine when I time-traveled," Uncle Ron boasted.

I blinked. _Where am I?_

"You're at the Burrow, of course," said Grandma Molly. "Where else would you be?"

"Dunno," I said thickly. My tongue seems triple its normal size. Someone shoved a straw in my mouth and I sipped it greedily. "Hogwarts? St. Mungo's? My flat... never know." It took a moment before I realized two things: one, most of my family was in the room with me and two, they all knew about where I'd been. _Was I really that drunk?_ I thought dizzily.

"I _knew_ it!" Uncle Fred yelled triumphantly. "I _knew_ he was drunk when he wrote that letter. Al's always been a sad drunk. It was so obvious."

Uncle George chuckled. "I never doubted you."

I thought back. Yes, I vaguely remembered writing a letter to Uncle Percy while I'd been drunk. A long, meandering letter that expressed hurt that he hadn't seemed all that happy to see me and my own fears of incompetence. I winced, slightly horrified. I'd actually written the words _No one is ever happy to see me... I thought you'd be different..._ I wracked my brains, trying to figure out what else I'd written, but only the highlights stood out.

"I broke my rule," I admitted. "I wasn't supposed to get drunk again."

A warm hand slipped into mine, and I instinctively turned my head. Emmy Wilder stared back at me, her face a mix of amusement and concern. Despite the situation (which was, admittedly, truly bizarre), my stomach swooped. _Are we together?_ I thought in a dizzy rush of excitement. But the memories caught up with me and, feeling slightly disgruntled (_Will I ever get this right?_) I realized that we were just good friends. Again. It was better than enemies, but still...

Someone snorted and muttered something that I couldn't hear, but Emmy's cheeks flushed a bright pink.

I sat up, scratching my head. My thoughts were whirling, and my palm was damp in Emmy's. It was the aura of suppressed excitement that confused me most. My eyes sought out Uncle Percy; he was staring at me with a little grin on his face. It was such a change from the past Uncle Percy that it made me a little angry. "Happy to see me, are you?" I said coldly. "Bit of a change, isn't it?"

He looked surprised, and then understanding dawned. "Are you going to hold that against me? That was decades ago!"

"For _you_," I accused. "For me it was a few days."

Uncle Ron ruffled my hair. "Give him a break, Al, he feels bad at the way he treated you."

"How would you feel if you were me?" I said. "You don't understand. He asked me last time in 2028--"

"--that just sounds so _weird_," muttered Uncle Charlie.

I ignored him. "He wanted me to tell him! I did everything he asked me to do, and then he turns around and treats me like I'm scum on the bottom of his shoe." I knew I was being irrational, but I was overwhelmed by the positive response I was getting. Where were the accusations? Where were the recriminations? I squeezed Emmy's hand and she squeezed back.

"Give me a few moments," I muttered. Trying to make sense of it all. Granddad, Grandma, all my uncles and aunts, Remus and Dora Lupin, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, James and Lily all stood around my bed. And they all knew about the time travel. I had to admit that I hadn't expected this, and I searched my brain for a memory that made sense of it all.

_It was the Christmas after I'd turned seventeen. I sat on the sofa, feeling quite smug that Lily and Hugo weren't there. They didn't know the real story of everything that had happened with Mum and Dad and Uncle Ron. They were too young. They weren't of age. The adults wanted to wait until they could understand. But I knew all about the Tears of Merlin. And I knew why there was an Order of Merlin, First Class on the mantle._

And I knew why the adults laughed so hard in the sitting room after dinner: they were playing a game. There had been another time traveler, and none of them ever figured out who it had been. And I'll be a fifth time traveler, _I thought smugly. As soon as I'd found out that time was more fragile than I'd ever assumed, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to follow Dad's lead, except this time, I'd be the one to save him._

James nudged me in the ribs, interrupting my thoughts. "You should've been here last year," he said reminiscently. "It was Severus' turn and he really tore the mickey out of Sirius... said that he'd gone back to prevent him from naming his son Elvendork."

I laughed. "Maybe Sarah's name was going to be equally strange, and he succeeded in changing Sirius' mind about that."

James' eyes went glassy, like they always did when Sarah Black was mentioned.

"Would you still love her if her name was Brunhildewalla or something?" I asked slyly.

He sputtered. "Love -- I don't -- you're--"

I laughed at him and he finally gave up. "What about Emily Wilder?" he asked suddenly. That was one thing about James; he always bounced right back and gave as good as he got.

"What about her? We're just friends," I said quickly. "Best friends."

"Oh, sure," James scoffed. "Is that why I heard her name this morning while you were in the bathroom?" he shook his head, looking concerned. "You've been taking awfully_long showers lately, Al. I'm a little worried. I think you--"_

Mercifully, Uncle Percy stood up and distracted James before my head could explode. The back of my neck felt itchy, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. Damn it, James, you've made me paranoid, _I thought, sinking down lower in my seat. "The I-Am-Merlin game is going to go a little differently this year," Uncle Percy announced. The feeling of being watched increased. I hoped they hadn't heard James' comment about the wanking._ They don't, _I told myself comfortingly. _Look, Grandma has tears in her eyes. It's not that big of a deal.

_"It's you, Al," Uncle Ron said suddenly._

I jolted upright. "What's me?" I squeaked.

"You're Merlin," he said cheerfully.

I blinked slowly. James started to laugh, but stopped when he noticed what I had: all the adults in the room were dead serious. Still, I chuckled a little, ruffling my hair.You've never told anyone your plans!_ I thought, panicked. _How could they possibly know?_ I'd never breathed a word to anyone that I intended to save Dad. Never. I'd never even told Emmy why I intended to go into the Department of Mysteries once I graduated from Hogwarts. "You're kidding," I said shakily._

"You never asked why I joined the Department of Mysteries the day after you went to Hogwarts," Uncle Percy said. "But I did it because of you. You'd given me a potion to make me forget until you said a certain phrase, and once I had those memories unlocked, I realized that I'd -- er -- seen you in the past. And I know that you made several different journeys to different time periods. I don't know the full story," his lips twisted wryly, "but I do know that you were an old hat at traveling through time."

I stared at him, mouth wide open. Why would I need to go back in time more than once?

"I can see you're confused," he said. He placed a round basin near my feet -- did he expect me to throw up? "This is a pensieve. I'm going to stick a memory into it"--he withdrew a silvery substance and placed it in the pensieve (I'd heard of them, of course, but never seen one--"and you can see yourself as I saw you."

Everyone stared at me expectantly.

"Go on, then," Uncle Ron gave me a nudge and I fell in.

There was a young Uncle Percy and a tall, dark-haired man--

I bit back a startled cry of pain, and it was once more 2028. The same people (plus Emmy) stared at me with the same expectation (though some looked concerned as well). My head felt like it was about to explode. "My head feels like it's about to explode," I said. "I've just remembered -- watching myself in the pensieve -- that was the most _awful_--"

But I stopped myself. The looks on their faces made me deeply uncomfortable; it was as though they expected me to pull off a miracle. How could I tell them that it was too late? Dad had already been hit by the curse, and because he was dead, Mum was dead. My hand hurt. My head hurt. My foot hurt. And so did my stomach. "The curse at the Ministry--" I began thickly.

"Was not the curse that killed your dad," Aunt Hermione said.

"What?" I said blankly. My heart began to race.

"It was a nasty one, the Slow-Sap Curse; it laid him up for a few weeks, but he came out of it just fine," Uncle Ron said.

I blinked at him rapidly, not wanting to believe. They continued to talk. It had happened, as I previously thought, at the Final Battle, after Dad had been struck by the Killing Curse. No one had thought anything of it until Uncle Percy had told them. Aunt Hermione had spent her time researching the curse, and attempting to find a cure (there wasn't one), just in case. Everyone else had apparently been helping her. All of them were apparently waiting for me.

Emmy stroked my hand with her thumb, and even though that was quite distracting, I couldn't help but be utterly baffled by one thing. "If you know so much about this, why didn't one of you go change it?" I didn't mean it in an 'Oh, poor Al, he's got to clean up everyone's messes' kind of way, but several of my family members were control freaks. I couldn't imagine why they'd allow me to go in the first place (without thinking there was a prophecy behind it), let alone actually waiting several years for me to catch up with them.

"We tried," Granddad said. He held out his palm. There was a faded scar on it. I remembered when they'd all gotten the scars on their palms; it had been right after Mum and Dad had died, and I'd thought that it had been an odd ritual of some sort.

"You--"

"We couldn't," said Remus Lupin. "None of us could. As soon as we tried to drip our blood into the pensieve, all of us experienced pain like you would not imagine."

"Oh, I can probably imagine," I said. I pulled on my hair. "I've been smacked down by the universe a time or two in my day." Hope and fear entwined in my stomach. I didn't know if it was better or worse that they knew. "I can't fucking believe this," I muttered.

"Language, Al," Aunt Hermione said, as though she couldn't help herself. Everyone else -- except Grandma -- gave her an incredulous look and her cheeks turned pink. "Sorry," she murmured.

"I hope the universe will let me go again," I said, though I had a feeling it would. I'd come too far to believe that I wouldn't see it through to the end. But still. I only had one chance. All of us only had one chance, and I had a history of screwing up. The stakes were immeasurably high. _Why am I even surprised?_


	43. Undeserving

November/December 2028

I wanted to tell them that I wasn't the little hero they seemed to think I was. They seemed to be under the mistaken impression that most of the good things I'd done had been accidents, and that I hadn't made any mistakes that I'd had to fix. They didn't remember the other futures. Uncle Ron had no memory of returning to the Burrow after a thirty year absence; he couldn't possibly have any idea what that had been like. Uncle Percy likewise didn't know that he'd once been the owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in honor of Uncle Fred and Uncle George's memory. Grandma was alive and well, and so was Granddad and Uncle Charlie.

Sirius Black had lived to give his son a strange name (what, exactly, had compelled him to name his son Elvendork when Michael was such a normal name?) and to have a daughter whom my brother loved desperately. Remus and Dora Lupin were alive. Severus Snape was not only still among the living, but had not been disfigured by Fiendfyre. Albus Dumbledore had lived through the war and had passed in his sleep when I was seven.

I'm not going to lie. It felt pretty good to know that even though I'd fucked up a lot of things with my temporal meanderings, I had family and friends around that I'd not had before my first jump. I had opportunity after opportunity to tell them the truth, but I didn't take it. It seemed like I spent every waking moment with a member of my family (by the end of the planning stages, I was getting a bit sick of them), and it got harder and harder to not blurt out the truth.

I'd been extraordinarily selfish. I'd gone back in time to try to subvert Dad's destiny and try to get someone else to carry the burden. I couldn't help but remember what Mum had yelled at me right after I'd placed the Imperius Curse on Uncle Ron. More and more, I realized that 'always and always' had never been more than words for me. A part of me (a large part) wished that someone else -- someone like Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione -- could have gone back this last time. I didn't feel like I deserved to save their lives.

The Order of Merlin that sat on the mantle seemed to mock me.

I tried, once, to broach this topic of conversation with Uncle Percy.

I sat back in my chair one week before Christmas when I was scheduled to leave (if nothing else, my family has a fine sense of dramatic timing) and rubbed wearily at my eyes. If I had to look at one more map of the Ministry of Magic I would go insane. And honestly! It wasn't like I hadn't worked there for years _and_ broken into it. I wasn't entirely incompetent. What'd they think I'd do without it? Start banging off the walls? I needed a distraction.

"Uncle Percy?"

"Yes," he said wearily. Apparently he had noticed my mumbled complaints.

"When you first met me, what'd you think?"

He pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his face. "Honestly, Al, don't you think I feel bad enough? Wasn't the letter sufficient?"

_Note to self: destroy first letter and write new one when not drunk, _I thought darkly. I'd been ridiculously emotional and pitiful; apparently, Uncle Percy hadn't fully grasped that I'd been drunk (and unusually sad; believe it or not, I am typically a happy drunk) when I'd written it. I was disgusted with myself when I remembered actually writing the words: _I hope someday you find it in your heart to realize that I love my family completely, and if I've used Unforgivable spells on you, I didn't do it with malicious intent. Same with the kidnapping. I just wanted someone to help me. Is that too much to ask?_

"I'm just wondering," I shrugged.

He sighed. "I didn't believe you one hundred percent, as I think you noticed. And -- the part of me that _did_ believe... well, I thought you were dangerous."

This seemed very sensible, and I wondered why in the name of Merlin he'd changed his mind about this.

"It just seemed very unwise to muck about in a time when you weren't even born," he admitted.

I couldn't help but agree with him. And that was the confusing part. If Dad and Mum could be saved... everything I'd done would have been worth it. But it had been foolish of me to leave the future and attempt to change the past. I'd been a hurricane rather than a butterfly. I'd caused horrific things to happen to those I loved. But if I hadn't royally fucked up and had to make so many jumps to try to fix it, I never would have noticed the oddity of the twenty four years and twenty four days. I wanted to tell Uncle Percy this, but my throat closed down.

"But after you told me you were in Slytherin and my memories were unlocked, I found my view of it almost completely changed," he said, staring at me intently. "Years in the future, I listened to what you'd actually said in the past. I compared your actions to the Al I'd known since he was born, and it fit very nicely." He turned and looked out the window and watched the snow fall. "Ever since you were a small child, you wanted to be just like your dad and you loved him very much. It was something we all used to joke about actually..."

I remembered.

"It was hard to get my head around it," he said. "It was almost too cyclical, you see. I'd watched you grow up and head off to Hogwarts -- a young man -- and suddenly I had a memory of another not so young man -- in fact, you were older than I was at the time, I believe -- telling me that Harry was to die of a curse, and you were going to try to stop it." He made a face that was half a smile and half a grimace. "I could see the eleven year old in the man, and I could see why your dad and mum's death would affect you so much that you were compelled to go and change it."

I saw his point, and wondered if he suspected how selfish I'd originally been. "Why did you tell everyone?" I blurted out the question before I could stop myself. I'd wanted to know why ever since I'd woken up to find them surrounding me, knowing pretty much everything.

He stared at me, perplexed. "You've no idea, do you, how much hope I suddenly had because of you. How could I possibly keep that to myself? I know you asked me not to, but it would've been criminal to allow them to grieve without knowing that things could change." He regarded me steadily, and looked poised to defend himself had I made more of an issue of it. But I just shrugged; it had turned out well (though Aunt Hermione was excessively obsessive with the planning -- why did I need to know where Lestrange was hidden? I had no intention of using him for anything).

"Just curious," I muttered.

"Imagine if we hadn't told you immediately that there was still hope," he said quietly. "If we'd waited and waited and let you suffer, thinking there was nothing you could do. It wouldn't have been right."

The pressure was almost a physical thing. I could feel it resting on my shoulders, pressing me down. _One chance to save them. Just one. If you fuck up, all is lost_.


	44. Once More Into The Breach

25 December 2028

All the plans were set, the decisions made, and we walked together, as a family, to the Love Room in the Department of Mysteries. I had a pensieve tucked under my arm, and my palms were freakishly sweaty. I stole a glance at Emmy; she didn't seem to care. Almost involuntarily, I squeezed her fingers.

"I can't believe you get to go back in time," Lily piped up.

"That's because he's the favorite," James said, winking at me. I cast him a grateful look. Trust him to cut the tension.

Aunt Hermione didn't seem to appreciate this, and it caused her to go off on yet another of her lectures. "Al, you remember that you _mustn't_ reveal yourself?"

"I know," I said wearily. I resisted the urge to tell her that I had made those rules.

"And you remember that it's ever so dangerous, Al--"

"I was there right before the first final battle," I reminded her. "I doubt that this one is any more dangerous, frankly."

She still looked worried. I didn't hold it against her. My stomach was a gigantic knot of fear and pressure; I couldn't imagine letting someone so much younger than me jump into the past. Their faith in me was humbling and frightening all at the same time._You've only got one chance,_ I reminded myself for the forty-three millionth time. My nerves stretched to the breaking point.

I felt guilty about hiding something important from her (my plan to save Neville Longbottom), so I didn't look her in the eyes.

"He'll be just fine, Hermione," Uncle Ron said cheerfully.

All of them were there. And all of them had the same expectant, excited look on their faces (even though Aunt Hermione's and Grandma Weasley's were tempered with worry). As though sensing the spike in tension, Emmy squeezed my hand, and stroked my palm with her thumb. My thoughts immediately derailed. _What if I save Dad and Mum?_ I thought, before I could stop myself from wandering down these dangerous mental paths. _What if next life, I'm not so bloody stupid, and I've got Emmy?_ But if it was too much to hope for that Dad and Mum would survive, it seemed extravagantly foolish to expect myself to not be a complete moron about Emmy.

I was just about to make a snide comment to James and lift myself out of my glum mood when we arrived. I watched carefully as Emmy withdrew a small silver knife--

"Any knife will do, right?" I asked quickly.

"Yes," she said. I could tell she wanted to roll her eyes -- she'd told me this forty-three million times before -- but refrained from doing so. I sort of wished she had. "Then -- because apparently you've forgotten -- you nick yourself and let it drip right here," she pointed at a very small, discolored patch in the floor outside the door. Then she demonstrated. "I don't normally need to do this since I work here, but you will." She leaned over and stroked the door lightly with her fingertip. "Remember, Al, think about love--"

"--how many times have you told me this?" I asked.

Several of my male family members snorted.

"How many times have you asked me stupid questions like 'how does it know'?" she countered. "We think it's the rune, but it knows whether or not you've got good intentions... it's stumped quite a few workers. I don't know how many times I've had to stop my own work to let someone in because they were in a bad mood."

I couldn't help but admit to a fair bit of curiosity about this rune, though I knew that I didn't have the time tonight to explore it. Such a powerful magical object -- it had led to Mum's death alongside Dad's. That annoyed me a little. Still, when I leaned up against the door, I felt something. It was similar to the rumble of thunder that came when the universe was about to humble me big time. But it was gentler. More like the pull of a tide than a crashing wave.

"Let's go in," I said. She pushed the door open and we all filed into the room. It was large and spacious and filled with a light that danced across all of us. It was warm and not stifling. I took a deep breath and stared down at the swirling, turning rune and felt, for some inexplicable reason, slightly unsettled. It wasn't anything new, though; I'd been beset by anxiousness ever since I'd woken up to find that my family trusted me and rested their hopes on my shoulders. But here it grew even stronger.

"All right, Al?" James asked softly.

"I'm fine," I said quietly. No one else heard.

"Thanks," he said, swallowing hard. "I know you're going to bring them home, and... thanks."

I couldn't find the words to say to him, so I set down the pensieve and made ready to leave. "I'll just be--"

"Al," Emmy's voice rang in the sudden silence. I glanced at her. She stood with her hands on her hips, her honey colored hair tossed over one shoulder, and she had a hurt, but somehow still amused, look on her face. I opened my mouth and closed it again. No words would come. "Are you really going to leave without -- without--?"

Her voice trailed away. _Without what?_

James nudged me forward. "She wants you to kiss her, you fool," he hissed.

He was as loud as always; Emmy could hear him quite clearly. Uncle Fred snorted, but Grandma shushed him. I wished they would pretend like they weren't staring avidly at me. My entire face felt like it was on fire. I watched her face carefully for some sign of repulsion or denial, but she looked a little relieved and... expectant. My mouth went completely dry. But then... I felt a warmth that traveled from my toes to the top of my head. Dad used to put heating charms on towels after we got out of the bath when we were little, and it sort of felt like that.

It came from the direction of the rune. And it was almost as though Dad and Mum were behind me, and giving me a shove forward. I took two long strides, grabbed her hand, and jerked her toward me. "Sorry," I mumbled. And then I kissed her. At first I was frightened of scaring her -- I had several lifetimes of wanting to do this, and I might've been a bit intense -- but she gripped my shoulders and kissed me back just as fiercely. I think the rune might have made it even more intense -- or maybe it was just Emmy -- but by the time we broke apart, I was shaking a little. The rune cast a light on her face; she was grinning at me.

"I take it that means you aren't going to go looking for girls in the past?" she smirked.

"Are you kidding?" James asked in disbelief. "It took him twenty two years to make a move on you."

I made a rude hand gesture at him behind my back.

"Do that again and, Merlin or not, I'll jinx your fingers together," Grandma said sharply. "And don't tease your brother, James."

"I'd be pretty annoyed if you came in here with another girl, Wise Asp," she said softly. Her words were tart, but her fingers caressed my face.

"Does my mum count?" I asked. "Because I'm going to be here when they are."

"That's okay," she said. Then a playful light ignited in her eyes. "But if your dad's here too, you'd better watch out."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the rune can make two people who love each other pretty amorous," she said, brushing up against the part of me that agreed with her. My eyes widened. _Had she done that on purpose?_

"Mum and Dad wouldn't do that," James said. I couldn't help but agree. Secluded or not, the Department of Mysteries was a public place. Not to mention that the dangerous atmosphere would dampen anyone's sex drive.

Uncle Ron snorted. Even Grandma and Granddad laughed.

"What?" I demanded, glaring at Uncle Ron.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just that neither one of you -- never mind," he said, still chortling. "I'm sure it'll be fine, and your little bubble of naivete won't be popped."

I bristled at this. _Bubble of naivete?_ I opened my mouth to say something when Granddad cleared his throat.

"Listen, Al," he said gently. He reached out and gripped Grandma's hand tightly. I sensed a moment coming, though I couldn't imagine what he would say to me. _He'd better not make me cry in front of Emmy,_ I thought fiercely. "Your Aunt Hermione... well, she told you that magical shields didn't work with the curse we're dealing with, yes?"

"Er, right," I said cautiously. _Where is he going with this?_

"If there isn't... if you can't use anything else... use me," he said.

I stared at him, gaping. Everyone did. He was offering his body as a shield for Dad's to protect him. The scars on my palm prickled as the light of the rune fell upon them.

"No way, Dad," Uncle Ron said forcefully. "If anyone, it'll be me--"

"--we'll see how Rose and Huge like that, Ron," Granddad said. "Then we'll have another time traveler--"

"--use me if you have to, Al," said Uncle Charlie. He looked rather menacing all of a sudden. "I'm the only one who hasn't got a wife and kids. I'm the one--"

"As if you're any less loved?" Uncle Percy asked disgustedly. He squared his shoulders. "I'll do it, Al. It would be ironic, and the universe apparently loves irony."

I wondered what Dad and Mum would think if they could see what I saw right now. A group of people who loved them so well that they were willing to lay down their lives for them. It made my chest hurt, and I didn't let them go at it for very long before I interrupted them. "Don't be stupid," I said, forcing out the words. "If I have to use a human as a shield, it's going to be a Death Eater."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"You know," said Uncle Fred thoughtfully. "We're really lucky he's in Slytherin."

"Yeah, use the bad guys to catch curses," Uncle George said, slapping his forehead. "We Gryffindors are far too eager to jump in front of them when there are Death Eaters to do it for us."

I laughed with the rest of them, but quickly sobered. "I need a memory," I said quietly.

"Can I do it?" Uncle Ron asked. It seemed fitting that the last surviving member of the three who had used the Tears of Merlin to lessen the cost of victory be the one to provide the means for me to save the other two. Everyone was quiet as the silver strands of memory came out of his temple. He placed it carefully into the pensieve.

"At least I didn't have to Imperius you this time," I said shakily. My nerves were catching up to me. Emmy tightened her arms around my waist.

I stepped away from her. "Once more," I said. And slashed my hand open for the final time. I kept my eyes on them -- a proper send off -- as I slid into the past. Last chance.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

**The Laws of Time Travel:** (These are definitely set in stone; literally these laws can't be broken)

_The Traveller may not create a Reality in which the Traveller no longer exists. This will cause Pain unto Death._ (The universe is not kidding about this one.)(After everything else I've changed, I'm sort of glad that I'd die before I could kill Mum and Dad)

_The Traveller may not change Prophecy, and that which has been Foretold by the Ones with the Far-Seeing Eyes. This will cause Pain unto Death_. (Prophecy can't even be diverted. Fate is basically the anus of the universe)(Yep, still don't like Fate so much)(I still hate Fate, but I hate articles more)(Fake prophecies are the best)

_The Traveller may not challenge the Cornerstones of Fate, upon which Reality turns. This will cause Pain unto Death_. (Still have no clue what these are. I think it's probably safe to say that I tried to break this law too)(I'm still waiting to find out what these are; I've got a bad feeling)(I wonder if this has something to do with the fact that no matter how much I change things, certain events always happen, like Dad having his blood taken in the graveyard, or Granddad Weasley being attacked at the Department of Mysteries)(It's really convenient when I've got to lie to people)(I hope the Cornerstones have nothing to do with _Segnismorenia_)

**The Guidelines of Time Travel**: (These can be broken, but it's probably best if they aren't.)(Even if you really, really, really want to get drunk)

_Don't get drunk. Just don't do it. It may not cause 'Pain Unto Death' (even a hangover is not that bad compared to the spanking the universe gives you if you're naughty), but it's just not a smart idea._

__

Don't try to get around the Laws. The universe is smarter than you are.

Don't tell your dad that you are his child from the future. He will just think you're a lunatic.

Try to avoid the subject of someone's imminent death. They get really cranky when they know exactly how and when they're going to die.

Don't do things to deliberately turn people against your father. They will actually be turned against him, and they may not find a way back from distrust and dislike.

Being a good liar is pretty much a necessity for the time traveler. (But sometimes the truth is okay, too)

_If you really aren't able to do something, chances are another member of your family can, and they might help._

_Be prepared. Sometimes things actually do go right. This can be pretty confusing, so just try to be ready for anything._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_Last jump. I can't quite believe it!_


	45. The Butterfly

1997

I literally hit the ground running.

There was only one reason why I was not asked to save Neville Longbottom from dying at the hands of Fenrir Greyback when he had been attempting to rescue Mad-Eye Moody from St. Mungo's. The night of the new moon arrived (and so did I) at pretty much the same moment that Neville died. But I wanted, needed to save him. I'd never met him. He'd suffered all kinds of fates: he'd been burned by Fiendfyre, tortured into insanity, had his soul sucked out by a dementor, and was killed by Greyback.

So I'd barely even gotten a glimpse of a quiet street in Godric's Hollow (I couldn't, of course, see Sirius' home, as it was protected by the Fidelius Charm and I was not in on the secret) when I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself (there was no time to retrieve the cloak from Granddad and Grandma Potter's house) and, in the same movement, Disapparated. I was not nearly fully fleshed, and silvery strands of memory clung to my feet and hands and streamed out behind me.

I sprinted through the entrance of St. Mungo's and, ignoring the Welcome Witch and two elderly wizards, I raced down the corridor and flung open the door that led to the stairs. I pounded up them, heart racing. _You've got to do this,_ I told myself fiercely. _You've got to._

I ran, thinking that if a miracle happened and I met Dad at the other end, in 2028, I didn't want to look him in the eye and tell him that I hadn't saved his friend even though I could have. He was already going to be so disappointed in me. And besides that... I'd been given a chance to get to know family members I never had before: Uncle Fred, Uncle George, and Uncle Charlie. I had a feeling that Neville would have a place in our lives that would be completely right, and I would realize that I'd missed out on knowing him, and I wouldn't be able to imagine growing up without him.

These thoughts guided me forward to the Permanent Spell Damage Ward.

And just as I was about to think that perhaps I was too late, that the trap had already been sprung, I caught a glimpse of a plump, dark-haired boy trotting ahead of me.

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" I shouted. I instantly saw my mistake; he started to duck around the corner. "_Stupefy!_" He dodged it, the blighter. I threw everything I had into my run and I sent stunner after stunner, but he was remarkably agile on his feet; I could see that Dad had trained him.

Just as he reached the door and reached out to open it, I heard a clap of thunder so strong that I was certain a storm had begun in St. Mungo's. But it in my veins, and I felt a sick sense of horror. I knew, instinctively, that if he entered that room, he would be lost. There would be nothing I could do. "STOP!" I cried, and sent one last _Stupefy_.

The door opened, he slipped in, and it closed with a bang. A sense of finality hung in the air. I lifted my shaking hand which (had I been able to see it) would still look foggy from my travels backward, and attempted to bludgeon my way through the door. But pain rippled through my body.

I couldn't go into the room. Neville Longbottom's life was forfeit and sealed by fate. I'd been too late. Pacing like a restless animal, I pressed my hands to my eyes and wondered what I could do. Kill the Death Eaters? The thought made me ill. I'd never had to kill anyone in my travels, not directly, and I didn't want to do so now. But I couldn't just leave, even though everyone from Granddad to Aunt Fleur had told me in no uncertain terms that I was to stay out of the fighting as much as I could.

The door suddenly turned white-hot. I could feel the blast of heat from three feet away and I stepped back. Disoriented, it took a moment for me to recognize the sudden stench. _Fiendfyre_.

_But -- why would they -- how the--?_

It didn't make any sense that the Death Eaters -- from what I remembered there were several of them -- would unleash Fiendfyre in a closed space. No one could have survived that. No one--

_Neville_.

I gaped at the blistered, glowing door. Neville Longbottom had done it himself. He'd cast Fiendfyre and gone down with the Death Eaters.

I turned around and walked away. I felt like I was floating above myself, almost unable to comprehend the events of the last few minutes. I'd heard tales, of course, but never before had I been confronted with such raw evidence of heartbreaking courage, and it was all I could do not to break under the regret and awe. I didn't have that in me, I knew.

I moved forward even though I didn't know where I was going. I itched to do something. Anything. I wanted to help. I wanted the war over. _I wish I--_

The Horcrux.

Seconds passed and then a full minute or longer until I realized that I'd stopped in my tracks. People were beginning to notice that something was wrong, that something had happened. Several Healers streamed by me. I wondered which side they were on, and how they could go about business as usual when Voldemort was in charge and men like Neville Longbottom died in blazes of glory and courage.

_You can get the Horcrux,_ a small voice in my head told me. _You know where it is._ The idea gripped me and I knew I would do it. I knew I could.

_Thank you, Aunt Hermione,_ I thought. The acrid stench of Fiendfyre burned in my nostrils. And even though I doubt she'd meant me to use the knowledge of Lestrange's hiding place to act out my aggression, and I'd spent the last month or so wishing she wasn't so anal retentive, I thanked her in my head over and over again. Walking away from Neville Longbottom's death and my own failure seemed to take forever.

I ghosted through the halls, excited voices already loudly wondering what exactly had happened. I ignored them. It seemed a bit ironic to me that one horrific scene (which I didn't even see, just heard) had me itching to have this done with. Enough to want to retrieve a Horcrux and destroy it._Be the butterfly, not the hurricane,_ I told myself. In this instance, it didn't much matter. Besides, underneath the anger and disgust, it felt right. I struggled to remember if the cup held any significance to anyone that would lead to their disappointment if I destroyed it.

But it was nothing like the diary, which Dad had delighted in destroying for what it had done to Mum. Nor was it a high-drama item, like Nagini. No, it would help them if I did it.

_And_, I thought as I finally exited and found a quiet alley from which I could Disapparate, _I really need to beat the shit out of something._

Lestrange lived in an elegant townhouse not too distant from where I remembered 12 Grimmauld Place to be. It was generally under close watch by the Order of the Phoenix, but I knew from what I'd been told that Neville's death had sent shock waves through the organization that fought Voldemort from the shadows. The only worry I had were about the wards. I tapped my chin, pacing the front of the house.

Anti-Intruder Alarm. Anti-Apparation. Several others that would do unfortunate things to my body were I to attempt to force my way through. I could conceivably batter my way through -- Uncle Bill had enjoyed making a game of getting us to learn how to get through wards, much to Grandma's dismay -- but it would take most of the night, and not even Lestrange could be so stupid to not notice what I was about.

_The universe is out to get me,_ I thought, kicking a rubbish bin out of my way.

A loud _crack!_ almost had me diving into the bushes, and I thought, _maybe not._

Lestrange, who had just arrived home from either torture by Voldemort or an assignation with a dominatrix (he seemed to go for the type), wobbled on his feet, robes tattered and ripped. "_Petrificus Totalus_," I said smugly. He froze and toppled over. My irritation with the universe vanished (for now), and I thanked Merlin (the real one) that he hadn't thought to ward himself, just his house.

I flicked my wand and he slowly raised into the air and drifted toward me. I meant to just reach out and grip him to Apparate away with him, but the anger boiling inside of me and the Dark Mark half-concealed by his robes gave my hands other ideas. I fisted them together and swung, holding absolutely nothing back, and they connected with his nose and it shattered, making a very satisfying sound. So I did it again. And once more, for good measure.

APAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP

Less than a day later, I stared down at the Horcrux, Hufflepuff's cup, and couldn't hold in a little victory dance. Lestrange stared at me vacantly, though I saw a flash of contempt in his eyes that was not completely veiled by the Imperius Curse. Underneath the illusions I'd placed on his face, it was swollen and bruised. I smirked at him. He could laugh at me all he wanted, but it had been ridiculously easy to force him into retrieving the Horcrux for me.

"You don't have a very strong will, do you?" I asked him, jabbing him a little with my foot. He looked at me balefully. "Do you know what this is? It's a Horcrux. It's keeping your precious master tethered to life. And I'm going to destroy it."

Rodolphus Lestrange looked away.

I shrugged.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked as though he was asking if he could have a cup of tea.

"No," I told him. I gave him a look that warned him not to ask any more questions. Honestly, I didn't know what I was going to do with him. All of the alternatives -- I didn't want to kill him, but I didn't want him banging around loose and potentially dangerous -- seemed sort of harsh. I could wipe all his memories and--

"Pathetic," he said coolly.

Rolling my eyes, I ignored him in favor of gloating over the fact that I had a Horcrux and it was about to be destroyed. _And_ I'd be able to present it to my father and mother tonight, as Aunt Luna had told me this was the night they intended to break into the Ministry of Magic. I doubt they would be much impressed by it; I only did what they had done the second time around. A simple Imperius Curse while Voldemort was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking no one knew about his Horcruxes.

"Time to go destroy this," I said. "You know... maybe I should send you to Voldemort after all, and let him know that you practically gift wrapped his precious bit of soul for me. I'm sure he'd really like that." I winked at him when he shuddered. I wouldn't do any such thing, of course, even though I wanted to. I didn't wait for his reply -- I hoped he was too busy pissing himself to say anything -- and hurried out the door to the yard.

I added a few more protective charms (being careless around Fiendfyre was not a good idea) and everything was completely set up. I set the Horcrux in the center on top of a stump. It glittered in the sun, and I stared at it for a moment. It really was a waste. It was a priceless historical artifact--

_Since when do you care about priceless historical artifacts?_ I asked myself. I'd sounded like Aunt Hermione! This was a first for me. And I glanced back at it--

It was filled with a liquid that was identical to a memory, but just a shade darker, and tainted around the edges. Gaping, I moved closer; it sloshed around and a smell that was not wholly unpleasant (though might be masking something rotten) wafted up my nostrils. _What is this?_

I moved so that I was leaning over it. I squinted; was that a picture forming in the murk? It resolved into my own face, though altered. Something in the eyes told me this was not quite me. The skin was pale and pulled over cheekbones. My nostrils were slightly slitted, I thought, and the changes in my appearance appeared to grow sharper with the second. Once the eyes started turning red, I knew what I was seeing and I couldn't look away. It was as though my own obsessions were staring back at me; I used to have my father's eyes, and now they were dripping with blood--

Leaping back, I screamed the incantation that created the living flames. A moment later, the cup had been devoured by a vicious salamander made of fire. It cracked down the middle and charred, and it was all I could do to call off the spell.

Breathing hard, I slowly came back to myself. _It was just an illusion_, I chanted. _Just an illusion. Just an illusion._ I wasn't like Voldemort... not really... Uncle Percy said I wasn't, and I could trust him. _But you never told Uncle Percy everything,_ a small voice pointed out. _If he'd known everything, if he could see inside your heart, what if he would take back those words of comfort?_

I don't know how long I remained kneeling on the ground, staring at the Horcrux, but twilight had fallen by the time I groaned to my feet. My knees popped and I stretched my arms above my head.

I had meant to leave later and arrive just before my parents. But I remembered the light of the rune falling over me the last time I had been there. And I knew from my parents' stories that the rune had offered them visions and comfort, and I wanted to experience it. I wanted the reassurance -- I needed it. After the Horcrux, after Neville Longbottom... after everything. Love wouldn't lie to me. It was the most terrible and wonderful power in the universe. There was no need for it to lie. And after pacing the floor for a few hours (ignoring Lestrange's whinging and taunting), I left.

Despite my distraction, I managed to make it to the love room without being seen. I left the door ajar, and created a small ward that would only allow those with my blood to enter, or to even see the door was open. Then I added a line that would alert me to their arrival and I loitered at the top of the steps. What if I didn't like what I found? What if I had indeed gone too far? What if I'd been so blind with my desire to have my family next to me that I was closer in personality to Voldemort to my father? If I managed to stop the curse, how would I ever look him in the eye again?

But the fear began to ebb away, and the dancing light the rune cast seemed to call me forward. I walked down the steps, not in a hurry, but not dragging my feet either. I kept my eyes on the rune, and for some inexplicable reason, I could see everyone and everything I loved in it. The curve of Emmy's smile (and, to be perfectly honest, the shape of her bum was there as well); Dad's scar was right in the center, and practically blazing. Mum's hands, gentle on my brow. And if laughter could be a squiggle, I saw James in there as well. And Lily's hugs. My huge, mad family...

I stood directly under it and let the light wash over me. I was no longer worried at what I would find. Something told me that Voldemort could stare at the rune for thirty days and not see a familiar thing. Closing my eyes, I felt as though I'd somehow stepped onto the rune, as though it was a giant web... or a path... and I was in the center. I saw my lives behind me; the good moments and the bad. I saw my stupid, selfish, hurtful reasons for embarking on my journey in the first place. Almost cringing, I then saw the subsequent journeys, and how I'd learned and grown and I was no longer the same man who left.

Tears stung my eyes, and slowly the light faded and I was released.

I was still reeling from the moment when my parents arrived almost an hour later. I barely had the presence of mind to Confund them and keep their curiosity at bay (I was never a good liar around them, and it wouldn't do to give them too many clues -- I could see myself jumping out at them and screaming that I was their son from the future. _Thank God for invisibility cloaks,_ I thought.

I knew that they knew I was there. Neither one of them were incautious. But the charm had dampened their caution, and the rune drew them to the center of the room just as it had me. I couldn't help but wonder what they were seeing, but didn't want to intrude. It was very private, seeing the vastness of love, and I didn't think they'd want to share it with me.

And then it happened.

It happened so quickly that I almost didn't have time to turn away. Dad pressed his lips against Mum's and their hands wandered freely on each other's bodies. For one horrible moment, I couldn't even move, and just gaped at them, unable to believe this was happening. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Dad dragging the robe away from Mum's chest while she scrabbled at his trousers--

I dove to the side. _Stop, stop, stop,_ I begged. Belatedly, I pulled out my wand, and just as they moaned for a reason I absolutely did not want to know I cast a Silencing Spell over them. Just for good measure, I obscured the air around them, though I buried my face in my arms and did not look up, lest I be forced to gouge out my own eyes. Without magic.

Long minutes later, I realized I needed to check to see if they were done. Or not. The 'or not' made me keep one eye firmly covered with my hand and the other so fiercely squinted that even if I did, by chance, happen to see a body part, I would hopefully not realize what I was seeing in more than a blurry, general way. To my immense relief, they were already dressed by the time I gathered the courage to look. I stood up.

"Merlin?" Dad said tentatively. _Now he remembers that he's not alone_, I thought darkly. I was still reeling from the shock. _No child should ever have to be trapped in a room while his parents had sex_. I wished I'd thought to bring someone else along. Someone who could obliviate me.

"Present," I said.

Dad's face flooded with color, and Mum looked like she'd been dipped in boiling water. I grimaced, though I knew they couldn't see me. I couldn't help but blame Uncle Ron. Looking back on the scene in this _exact_ room, I couldn't help but think he'd known. It was just like him, too.

"I – er – you know," I said. I was amazed that after everything, I could still manage to reach this level of mortification. "Once the – uh… robes. Well… when they started coming off…"

"Thanks," Mum whispered in a strangled voice. "We were a bit… caught up in the moment."

"I appreciate it," Dad said finally, breaking the silence. It had reached heretofore known levels of awkwardness "We don't usually—"

"No need for thanks!" I blurted out. Now, on top of everything, he wanted to talk about his sex life? _No, no, no._ "Or… to tell me anything. I've – uh – I thought something like this might happen. I was warned… no matter."

Thankfully, he must have heard the plea, and he did not try to explain why they'd felt compelled to have _sex_ deep in _enemy territory_ in the middle of a _war_. I couldn't wait to tell James how wrong we'd both been. The moment grew longer, however, and shadows passed over Dad's face. The destroyed Horcrux was suddenly a very heavy weight in my pocket, and I remembered Neville, and how I had failed him. I was certain that's what Dad was thinking.

"I know what you must be thinking," I said huskily. I wanted him to know that I'd done what I could, I really had, but once he'd sealed the room, he'd sealed his own fate, and there had been nothing I could do. "And I tried to stop it. I couldn't make him listen to me. I just… I couldn't."

Dad let out a breath. "You did… you did what you could?"

"I did," I promised. "There's only so much I can do, though." A fact that pissed me off to no end. It seemed so deeply unfair that so little could actually be changed by time travel.

"Merlin," Mum broke into my thoughts.

"Er…"

"Why the different names?" Dad asked.

"Oh…" my mind raced. Who had originally given me the name Merlin? I'd used it as the unlocking phrase in my second jump. Why had I done that again? It had been a whim, mostly, right? Stemmed from the fact that Aunt Luna had told me stories about Arthur and Merlin all my life. But that had been a completely different life, hadn't it? I scratched my head. "I think that might've been Luna. Or her dad. Although I might've come up with it because of them…"

"Sorry," I said. I pulled myself out of my thoughts -- I did not want them to think I was even more insane than I already was -- and decided to put it in a way that would make sense from their own perspective. "It was Luna. I remember now. Sometimes I forget things," I told them.

Mum and Dad exchanged dubious glances. It was a familiar glance. The first time I'd seen it had been when I was four years old, and I'd tried to assure them that yes, indeed, I knew how to fly an adult's broom. They hadn't believed me (not knowing that I'd been practicing on Dad's for several months).

"Don't look at me like that," I said before I could stop myself. "I know what I'm doing." _It was just a little lie,_ I comforted myself. I knew enough to know what I was up against, anyway. And I'd destroyed a Horcrux, hadn't I?

"These are our lives—"

"It's my life, too," I told him. And it really was. Sort of. I may have gone in for all the wrong reasons, but the past had affected my lives in ways that I still didn't fully understand. I thought of their obituaries. It _was_ my life. "Sorry. You wouldn't – you can't—"

"Who are you?" Mum asked bluntly, once she realized I wouldn't be able to finish my sentence.

"Can't tell you," I said. _Way to go, Al,_ I thought darkly. _They probably think you're a complete moron._ "Listen… the less you know about me the better." I paused. I could tell them who I wasn't. "I will tell you that I'm not Dobby."

I could tell they didn't like my little joke. _This isn't the time,_ I reminded myself. _And they aren't your parents. Not really. Not yet._

"But—" Dad pressed.

On top of everything, it seemed like the Confundus Charm was wearing off.

"No buts," I said. "It might seriously fu"--_don't swear in front of Mum!_--"I mean, screw – things up." I recast the charm. I couldn't afford to let them find out. Not yet.

"Will… will they ever know who you are?" Dad asked vaguely. I couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit smug that it had worked so quickly and so well against him (I could practically see their curiosity slipping away), though I felt a little pang at the continued deception. _It has to be a sacrifice. It has to be._

But still. I wanted to tell him. And I especially wanted to tell Mum that this would pass. A little shiver went through me, and I think it had to do with the rune. It didn't urge me toward telling, not at all. I was certain that it was for the best. But after seeing their faces when they came in, I had an idea of what they'd found here. Both of them were easier for it, and they almost seemed luminous, and I'd be hard pressed to decide who looked more restored, Mum or Dad.

_I swear that I'll do everything in my power to make sure you find out who I am someday._

"Did you find what you were looking for here tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I didn't know I was looking for it. But I found it anyway."

"Me too," I said quietly. And it had little to do with the destruction of the Horcrux. The raw, angry parts of me had been soothed. And I'd found a measure of peace that had made me breathe easier. It had shown me that I had done whatever I could for Neville Longbottom. And that Uncle Percy had been right. I may have made mistakes and I'd been stupid, but I'd done it out of love.

"I did too," Mum said.

"I was afraid," Dad said in a low voice. "I started to think that maybe I wasn't going to be able to do it. You know… you know about the Horcrux inside me, don't you?"

A surge of guilt rose up inside me; I'd made him doubt himself. At the same time, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course Dad would be able to do it. He was Dad. It seemed ridiculous to me that he could doubt himself that much when everyone knew he was pretty much the bravest man in the world. "I do."

"I just… I didn't know how I'd be able to," he continued. "I waited and waited for another solution. Hermione looked everywhere for it. But maybe… I've been hit with the Killing Curse twice now. And a chance like the Deathly Hallows – something like that can't happen every day. Or twice a lifetime. And now… I wonder whether this was the way it was supposed to happen."

I was a little surprised by his words. I hadn't thought that he would've looked for other solutions, and they'd never revealed this. It pleased me, actually, that he hadn't gone blindly into what he thought was certain death. It was very Slytherin of him.

"I mean… what if we were always supposed to come back? And the Deathly Hallows was what saved me so that everyone else – except… except Neville and Moody – could live here, in this timeline. And it's worth it. It's so worth it. It's a choice… but it's the easiest choice in the world… I knew that. I've known it all along. I just forgot for a little while."

It was so surreal, sharing this moment with both of them. They looked very young to me all of a sudden, though very old at the same time. I drew in a deep breath, wishing I could show him the scene in which everyone offered their own bodies as a shield -- thinking that I would use one of them instead of a Death Eater. I wanted to tell them what changes the rune had wrought in me and how it had opened my eyes, but I couldn't.

So I reached into my pocket and brought out the Horcrux. "It's a little crispy," I said. "I couldn't resist the urge to destroy it myself. Sorry."

Dad and Mum stared at it, eyes rounding with shock. Mum covered her mouth with her hand. Dad's lips twitched and broke out into laughter. For a moment I was completely disoriented. Did I do something funny to his head with the charm? But when Mum laughed... I realized that maybe me showing up out of the blue in the love room and handing them a Horcrux could be a bit funny. "Don't apologize for destroying a Horcrux."

"All right," I said. "But I forgot if someone called it or not…"

The moment of hilarity faded, and with it our conversation. It was a natural end, though I supposed if I hadn't severely handicapped their desire to ask questions, I would be besieged. And stunned. And taken back to Grimmauld Place where they would likely force me to reveal all my secrets. My mind conjured up visions of Snape and several scary looking silver instruments (he was a decent bloke, but vicious when riled).

"Will I see you again? Before the end?" Dad asked, mercifully jerking me out of my thoughts.

"It's a possibility," I said carefully. I couldn't exactly tell him _damn straight_, could I?

Dad held out his hand to me, and my throat immediately closed up. I felt bad that his feelings of good will toward me were more pronounced than they would have been in the absence of his curiosity. And I couldn't help but realize that if I took his hand, it would be the first time I'd touched him in years.

So I hugged him instead. He was just a hair shorter than I remembered (we were exactly the same height), and it was so familiar that I rested my head on his shoulder for just one tiny moment. It was perfect.

"Listen," I said in a thick voice once I'd pulled away. "Give me five minutes to get out of here before you leave this room. I need a head start."


	46. The Hurricane

1997 (The Final Battle)

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was packed with people ready to fight, and it was a real bitch trying to get to Aunt Luna in the crush, but I finally made my way over to the side. My stomach felt like a gigantic ball of nerves; I was trembling a little. "Aunt Luna," I whispered in her ear. "I'm in love with a heliopath," I told her. And I caught her around the elbow when she almost fell over. I didn't have time to watch the shock and realization cross over her face (annoyingly, as this was usually my favorite part).

I glanced at Mum. She looked strong and fierce and horribly vulnerable all at the same time. "Listen," I said. "Tell my mum that Arthur gets to see the way this ends." In every legend, Arthur always died before he could see the world turn to the light once more. I knew that Luna, who had grown up with an Arthurian-legend mad father, would understand this perfectly. I figured it was safe enough for her to know at this point. "But don't tell her until after Dad leaves," I said.

Her blond head bobbed up and down.

"I think I'm going to vomit," I told her. I felt sort of bad, because I knew she was probably pretty confused. But at the moment, I just couldn't seem to care very much.

Voldemort's voice barely registered on me, and the confusion was intense. I didn't have time to explain or elucidate, but strode toward the doors, around the fighters, ready to intercept Dad. Aunt Luna was right behind me. I walked a little way away, not wanting to intrude on their privacy (the interlude between my parents in the Department of Mysteries was fresh on my mind). It was almost unbearable to witness the goodbyes, and I had to keep chanting to myself that Dad was going to live. All was not lost.

I was waiting for him just outside the doors.

"I'm here," I said. I could sense his shock.

"I can do this," he said fiercely, defensively. "I'm not going to back out, I'm going to do this. If that's why you're here—"

"Of course not!" I yelped. A wave of guilt crashed over me. It was awful that I'd made him doubt himself. "You've always been able to do this." Of course he had. Every time. Dad had never tried to escape or unload his burden or required someone to force him into it.

"Then why are you here?" Dad asked. There was a strange note of desperation in his voice. "If I can do this, if I didn't need you to encourage events to play out the way they have… why are you even here?"

"I didn't want you to be alone," I said. It was partly the truth. I could have waited until the right moment. I hadn't had to reveal myself at all. But the idea of Dad walking to his death all by himself made me feel as though something quite heavy pressed down on my chest. I was suddenly very close to tears. _Now is not the time, Al!_ I yelled at myself. I don't know which one of us sped up, but we picked up the pace.

"Are you wearing my cloak?" Dad asked. We took our time, but we were steadily drawing nearer. "You didn't have to steal it, you know. The Resurrection Stone was destroyed long ago."

"I didn't know," I said in a wondering voice. Why hadn't Albus told me that the Stone had been destroyed? I wouldn't have had to steal the Cloak (though I had to admit it had been quite useful).

"Now you do."

I reached for him and gripped his arm tightly. I could no longer resist the urge to apologize "Listen. I'm so sorry. I really am. Please forgive me?"

"I think you care about what's going to happen in a few moments," Dad said after a long pause. "That makes it easier… knowing that you don't like this. So… of course. There is no need to apologize."

"I care very much," I said swiftly. I didn't think that I could possibly care more. The rune had shown me that, misguided as I had been, I'd been driven by love. And I very much did need to apologize to him -- I hoped desperately that he would still be alive in 2028 and I could say I was sorry. It just wasn't the same here and now. He couldn't really understand, even if I revealed who I was. But the words had made me feel better.

"I thought you might," he said quietly.

I laughed a little, but I didn't think he heard me.

I let Dad set the pace. He walked slowly but surely, and I thought of all the times we'd gone on walks together as a family, and it seemed as though he walked at the same pace. His courage was very humbling, and I felt another surge of guilt at allowing him to believe he was to die. But there was no going back from that now.

"Will you take the Disillusionment Charm off of me?"

"When you're ready," I replied in a voice almost as soft as his.

Dad breathed in deeply. "I'm ready."

And then there was beauty in the midst of something ugly.

Patronus after patronus suddenly appeared to stand beside him (and me). I knew most of them. And even though they meant to be there for Dad, I felt as though they were there for me too. It reminded me so strongly (and inexplicably) of how it had been just before I'd come back to save Mum and Dad. I felt as though Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, Uncle Percy, Aunt Luna, and everyone else I loved were there with me, even though they were really there for Dad. They'd had faith in me, just as they had faith in Dad.

"So much for your terrible power," Voldemort said giddily. "Your friends will let you die alone. Some friends!"

_He isn't alone,_ I thought fiercely. _I'm here, and so is everyone else._

As though echoing my thoughts, Dad said, "I'm not alone. And I'm lucky to have the type of friends that I do. I might've turned out like you, and then I really would've been alone. You're a waste of a man, Tom Riddle."

"But at least I am alive," Voldemort hissed.

And then I was his witness, just as the patronuses stood beside him, so did I. I forced myself to watch him hit with the curse. His body flew backward, and his head banged against my foot. I knelt down. I saw the moment he began breathing again and cast, "_Muffliato!_"

"Don't try to talk," I said, just to be careful. "They wouldn't hear you, but they'd see your lips move."

He obeyed, though mostly because Voldemort was stirring, and had sent Wormtail to check if Dad still breathed.

I grimaced. "_Imperio_," I whispered, and Wormtail became my puppet, tied to me through magical strings. I plucked them easily, and the pitiful man could not even attempt to fight.

"He is dead!" Wormtail announced. My words flowing from his mouth. I did not release him; he would die in a few moments, anyway, as Severus Snape and Sirius Black were about to avenge Granddad and Grandma Potter. But I didn't want him getting off his leash before that happened. My chest felt very tight at what I knew was about to happen. The Cruciatus Curse. I'd no idea how Dad had managed not to yell or betray his breathing status the other times. But I would make things easier for him, though it killed me that I couldn't take the pain away.

I bent over him, and asked if it was all right to petrify his body so that he did not have to worry about not making a sound. He agreed.

Again, I forced myself to watch. But this time, I reached out a hand and brushed at his fringe, the way he had done for me when I'd been ill or in pain. I knew how much this must be hurting him.

"It's all right," I said again and again, knowing only he could hear me. "It's almost over. Just a few more moments. And then that fucker will be dead in less than an hour. That fucker," I babbled.

And then it was over, and Albus and Severus and Sirius were there to act as a distraction. And the moment that all hell broke loose, I turned Dad invisible. They didn't notice.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," I said. And led him gently away. I felt sick that I'd had to allow him to be tortured, but how else would he have gotten away? He wouldn't have had time to prepare, and he was the only one besides me who was vulnerable. He would not survive a second Killing Curse; everyone else (besides me) was under his mantle of protection. I walked up a small slope and, hearing the beginnings of a storm, sank to the ground, and let him drift down beside me.

I watched him watch the duels and fighting and -- loath as I was to miss it -- I found myself more interested in the fact that this plan would not work. I would not be allowed to keep him here where he was safe. Already, I could hear the thunder, and little licks of pain flickered over my body, teasing gently with razor-sharp teeth.

One plan would not work. Wormtail was now it. His body would serve as a shield for Dad. It was ironic, in a way.

Battle raged. _It helps that I know the end_, I thought. In this time, Mum would be hit by the Killing Curse. It would rebound onto Voldemort and he would die. My lips twisted resentfully; there was no reason why Dad should have to be there for that.

Unless _Segnismorenia_ was a Cornerstone of Fate.

_No. No, it can't be._

"I finally understand what you've been saying to us for years," I blurted out without thinking. My veins still hummed with terror and rage.

"What?" he said blankly.

"I understand what always and always means now," I said, clarifying. It amazed me, really, at how wrong I'd been. Dad had never seen his destiny as a burden. More like a gift, that he could do this. It was a sacrifice, yes, and I knew that he'd had doubts that he could do it. But in the end, I knew he was glad that it was him and not anyone else. And I finally, finally understood what that kind of love meant. "I mean... I really understand it."

"I keep finding that always and always means a hell of a lot more than I thought," Dad said. I could tell he was not particularly paying attention to me.

"Let me up," said Dad.

"I have to, don't I?" I said, cursing inwardly. My eyes burned. "I bloody hate fate, you know?"

Dad laughed bitterly. "You're telling me this? I've had a prophecy hanging over my head since before I was born. My parents were murdered because of it. I don't think there's anything in the world that I hate more."

"Me either," I said. And above the feeling that my hands were being held over a warm fire, I felt strange sense of kinship with him, and I wished suddenly that I could tell him everything: who I was, what I was doing, and I opened my mouth to do so and liquid torment flashed through my veins. Apparently a confession at this stage was not a good idea.

Dad looked very angry. I couldn't blame him. I was angry too. "Will you let me up? I want to help them!"

I had no choice but to release him. I didn't want to let him go, but I had to. I knew the signs. Either I released him from the spell, or fate would take control and he'd be released from it anyway. I didn't want to find out how that would be done; the roaring in my ears was already pretty intense.

"Excuse me while I go kill an evil bastard," said Dad.

I hadn't been lying when I'd told him that I hated fate. _I suppose there's only one thing left to do,_ I thought. Acid bubbled in my belly, and I dropped the Hallow, the invisibility cloak he'd inherited from Granddad Potter, onto him. He rolled to his feet and without even questioning it's sudden reappearance in his life, he walked away from me.

I should've known that holding him captive would be too easy. But I didn't have time to ponder the implications of fate and prophecy. I was certain that after this last hour of fear, I'd have all the time I wanted to piece together the mysteries and come to an understanding about the Laws of Time Travel, and why things simply must be. _Just don't let him have to die,_ I begged. _Please._

I followed Dad. He did not seem to be aware of me, so focused was he on Voldemort. After five steps, he pulled ahead. I felt like I was walking through the sand on a beach. Then it was as though I tramped through snow that came to my knees. The thunder grew a bit louder in my ears. I ignored it and pushed onward.

So intent was I on my task that I could not spare the duel that now took place the attention it deserved. Every step was like a mile, and it took forever to reach Wormtail's body. My skin rippled with dread. I couldn't fail to notice that my movements and spells were being hampered. Pain prickled across my body; small, invisible needles poked into my skin. Casting the Disillusionment Charm on him was like lighting myself on fire. I slogged through the air, trembling from the effort and from nerves. _Fuck you!_ I thought. I didn't know whether I was speaking to Voldemort or to the universe, which refused to be diverted enough from its course.

"You're a very stupid man, Tom," said Dad. I could scarcely hear him.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" I whispered. Wormtail's invisible body twitched on the ground. But it was as though he weighed ten thousand pounds. My wand vibrated from the pressure.

"Do you want to know why? Your short-sightedness has cost you everything. We've tricked you every step of the way, and you've fallen into our hands just when we wanted you," said Dad. A very small part of me -- the part that was not, at this moment, wrestling with the universe and fate -- admired the smug note in his voice.

"Lies!" Voldemort shouted.

"You're already dead," Dad told him.

"You can't kill me," he hissed. "I've taken steps--"

"Oh, you mean that you've created Horcruxes?" said Dad. Sweat streamed down my face as Wormtail rolled and pitched in the air, all of an inch off the ground. _No, no, no, no._ "All of them have been destroyed. The cup. The locket. The snake. The diary. The diadem. The ring. They're all gone."

I could barely hear them as the universe thundered in my ears and made me weak from pain. It was 1981 all over again except worse, much worse. I could not keep Wormtail levitated in the air. He came crashing down, and my last chance came down with it.

_No._ And suddenly I felt like I was back in the Love Room in the Department of Mysteries. And the light of the rune was like a benediction on my face, and I remembered what I had known then: whatever it took. Once I made the decision -- though it was, admittedly, the easiest choice I'd ever actually made -- the pain lessened enough so that I could move again. I staggered to my feet. I had tried to do it another way. But my own body was the only shield left.

"Love will always, always conquer," said Dad. Tears stung my eyes. His strength was my strength; he lent me the ability to withstand the still considerable pain without even knowing. I closed my eyes and just listened to his voice. "'The last enemy that shall be defeated is death,'" he said. I remembered it vaguely as being the inscription on Grandma and Granddad Potter's gravestones. "Even when someone's last breath is drawn, love goes on forever. For always and always. You're a fool. You spent so much time trying to conquer death that you didn't realize that the one force in the entire world that can is the one thing that you shunned."

Voldemort jeered. "You are so like Dumbledore," he said, mocking laughter ringing in the air. I battled against the pain to stay standing. The thunder grew louder in my ears. "Love is pathetic. It's for the weak. It--"

"It's for always and always," said Dad. _Always and always_. I clung to those words and, inexplicably, the pain began to ease just a little. It was forced away and I moved to stand between them. I knew that the next spell would be the one that had, once upon a time, killed Dad, and would eventually kill me. "But you'll never be able to understand that."

"Oh, I understand," Voldemort said.

_No, you don't, you stupid fucker_, I thought, struggling against the pain. This was it, this was the moment. Sweat dripped from my forehead, and he twisted his wand and the sickly purple light arced out of it. And the moment it did, the pain released me, and I stood tall, arms outstretched--

And watched it strike my right shoulder. It spread out and sunk in, retreating quickly from view; I fell to my knees, stunned relief rendering my limbs useless.


	47. Aftermath

I watched, almost unseeing, as Mum was struck with the Killing Curse. The green light bounced back and Voldemort fell, his roar of fury abruptly cutting off. It seemed eerily silent, even when people began to cheer. I saw their mouths move and they were jumping up and down, but I felt as though I'd had cotton put in my ears.

I was going to die.

Aunt Hermione had researched the fuck out of _Segnismorenia_. Once it hit, the end (though it was a long way off) was certain. There was no potion, no counter curse, no object that could magically take it away. Of course there wasn't, otherwise I would not have needed to come back to 1997 and the final battle in the first place.

The joy of the moment flowed over me. It wasn't happiness, far from it. I wasn't completely stupid; I was aware of the ramifications of the choice I had just made. A choice that hadn't been a choice at all, not really. My body had been the shield that Dad had needed. I wasn't even surprised. It was suddenly clear to me that this was meant to be the end. Just as Neville had made his choice when he sealed the door, I had set myself on a path that fate would not allow me to be diverted. That was why my family members had not been able to make their own jump.

I wondered when I had sealed my fate, and thought it might have been as far back as the first jump, after using Uncle Percy's grief to gain the memory I needed. Perhaps this was my punishment for being so cavalier with people's lives and emotions. If it was, I was just fine with that. Because it was also a gift that I'd been allowed to save Dad and Mum at all. I actually wobbled a little when I came to my feet. The relief was like a living thing inside me, traveling through my veins.

_Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you._

I immediately sought out Aunt Luna. Uncle Percy was surrounded by laughing, crying family along with the rest of the Weasleys. Aunt Luna stood a little apart, smiling vaguely. I tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped.

"It's me," I said. "Can I talk to you?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. We walked up the hill in silence. I wanted to tell her that I had tried my hardest to save Neville, but something about the set in her jaw told me she didn't want to talk about it. "Did you do what you came to do?" she asked.

I thought carefully. I didn't want anyone to know, not yet, what had happened. "Dad was not hit by the curse," I told her, watching her face. Something unreadable flickered across it -- not an expression I'd ever seen before on her. I think she suspected there was more to the story, but she mercifully didn't say anything. This reminded me of something I now had to do. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Of course," she said.

"I need--"

And Mum and Dad interrupted me by arriving flushed with victory and happiness at being alive. Gone were the lines of grief; they actually looked the age of their bodies. I narrowed my eyes at them, though they couldn't see. I had to amend that thought and grimaced. They were about to go have sex, I could tell. _I can't wait to tell James._

The smile slipped from Dad's face a little and change. He had a strange look in his eyes as he stared at Aunt Luna. "Will you tell Merlin I said thank you for whatever he did?" Dad asked. "If you see him?"  
"You're welcome," I said. I was surprised that I didn't display more emotion. Dad was actually thanking me; I figured he knew that the fact he didn't know about his survival had saved lives.

"And thanks for giving me back my cloak," he added.

I rolled my eyes when my parents exchanged another heated look and hurried off without even looking back. There was only so much I could take, and being confronted with their libidos time and again brought me to my limits. How much did I--

It hit me, then, belatedly, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. I reached out blindly for Aunt Luna's shoulder but pulled back before I touched her. Dad wouldn't thank me, and neither would Mum. Not when they found out that I'd taken the curse. I wasn't stupid. I knew how much Dad loved all of us, and I knew that it had haunted him all his life that his mother and others had died to help him. And I, his son, had just basically done the same, even though I had many years left.

He was going to be furious, livid. I knew it. I couldn't even blame him. He'd just meant to die to save everyone else. He wouldn't want to accept what I'd done; he'd always done his best to shield us and protect us from the darkness in the world. He wouldn't understand that I hadn't had a choice. It was either me or him, and I knew Dad well enough to know that he'd never have wanted me to use my body as his shield. And then he'd--

"I need you to go and get my book," I said in a hollow voice. "Can you do that right now?"

"Merlin--"

"Please?" I said.

She left without asking why I needed it. But it had occurred to me that Dad and the others might take it upon themselves to change what I had done. What if Dad or Mum could somehow undo it? What if they used the information I gave them to change the past? I would blank the book. I could also go and erase most of what I knew about the other methods. I wouldn't destroy the material, no, but I'd lock it away for a very long time...

I ended up being quite busy over the rest of the month. I'd thought that I'd be bored. But once Aunt Luna had brought the book to me and I'd erased the pages and written the message "All had better fucking be well," I went into motion and I didn't stop. I also Confunded Aunt Luna into giving memory potions to all of them so that they could not find the answers to time travel within their minds (they could conceivably read the book again in a pensieve, I reasoned).

Basically, I cleaned up my tracks.

I tried very hard not to think about how I was going to tell Dad and Mum, and whether or not they'd forgive me. I didn't think of Emmy much, either, though that hurt less. I'd probably fucked things up with her in this lifetime as well. I didn't see how Dad's presence in my life would give me a clue about girls. Instead, I focused on the little things.

My desire to return home was only a hair stronger than my desire to stay in the past and avoid the inevitable confession. If I indeed confessed at all -- the temptation to remain silent was strong. But in spite of the doubt and the certainty that Dad and Mum would not like the decision I had made, I knew that it had been the right thing to do. How could I have sat back and watched while he took the curse? After all, I had an understanding of always and always that was almost as strong as Dad's.

It was worth it, no matter what came next.


	48. The Last

**HARRY POTTER GIVES SPEECH ON 25TH ANNIVERSARY OF VOLDEMORT'S DEFEAT**

_Hogwarts Castle was filled with more than students today as thousands flocked to the site of the dark wizard Voldemort's defeat. Veteran Muggleborns (those who had benefited from Molly Weasley's plan to take the to a safe refuge right under the nose of the then-corrupt Ministry) even staged a reenactment before the opening of the ceremonies. They later gifted Molly Weasley with a laurel of flaming yellow roses as a special thanks for her hard work._

__

But the highlight of the ceremony, of course, was the speech given by Harry Potter, who is famous for not only defeating Voldemort but for being remarkably tight-lipped and unwilling to speak in a public forum. The full transcript of the speech can be seen on page 3-4. "The lesson I have learned in my life is that love conquers," he said. "That isn't to say that darkness doesn't exist -- I know it does. But in a strange way, love flourishes in darkness. I have friends that know me better than they ever could have had we not been involved in a war. And together we defeated it."

The Head Auror and father of three (almost four, as Mrs. Ginevra Potter is due to deliver at any moment) offered the world unequivocal proof that love can always and always triumph over evil. When asked in the questions and answers portion of the program how he managed to maintain his silence under pain of the Cruciatus Curse, he laughed a little. "Oh, I had help. Believe me." He refused to elucidate further.

_He ended his speech by pointing to the children of those who fought in the war. "This is the future we sought to protect," he said. "We had a vision of a world without Voldemort's particular brand of evil -- and I'll clarify that I don't think my job is done, evil still exists -- but Voldemort is gone and we were free to marry and have children and, really, that's better than all the recognition and accolades and Orders of Merlin, First Class."_


	49. Final Notes

**Author's Note**

_I really hope that all of you have enjoyed_ The Book of Albus. _I really had an awesome time writing it; even though Al is a completely insane character and has, in fact, made me a little crazy._

_Here is the reason why I am ending it this way:_

_1. It ends on a happy note. Harry and Ginny survive._

_2. I like the idea of you, the readers, being able to decide what exactly happens to Al. Does he die in 2052 (24 years and 24 days after he was struck -- ironically, this happens to be Christmas Eve)? Or does Harry's sacrifice give him protection as well?And if the sacrifice does work, does Al get off completely without a scratch? Does Emmy prove to be a woman for the ages (and a worthy soulmate to Al) and stays with him and has his babies? How does Harry react, does Al even tell him, or does he decide not to?_

_3. The truth is, there is a lot of story left, though the time travel is finished, but I think that it is best left to the imagination. And, of course, I'm interested in hearing your view of what happens to Al in the final timeline._

_Thank you for reading._

_Ella_


	50. Sequel

Sequel to Al (entitled The Refuge of Hope) is now up. You can access it from my profile.


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